#roommate turns the radio off because it’s too loud so we just sit in silence and cat yowling.

[dilfcherricola]

Trying not to resent my roommate/coworker for things that are not in faer control but damn if the things aren’t making my life harder

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

[yourwildsimp]

sweet confessions

includes: aizawa, y/n

warnings: mentions of nightmares

length: 1,986 words

summary: with neither of you able to sleep, trapped words are finally allowed to slip like melted butter.

Four in the morning was not the time to be up, especially on a work night. Well, a workday at this point. You should be in bed, surrounded by the fluffiest, warmest blankets on the softest mattress you could afford.

And yet? Here you were in the bathroom, washing your face with warm water, for what was the third time in a row. It was as if you were trying to slowly drown yourself. A yawn left your lips, strong enough to rock your body with violent yet satisfying shudders. You cursed your insomnia. You knew you were tired, so why couldn’t you fall asleep?

Something clattered in the kitchen, a hushed swear which broke the stillness of the shared apartment soon followed.

Was he up, too?

Your face heated up at the thought of your roommate. There had always been a spark between the two of you, but both of you dodged any confrontation. It was like fate danced you both around each other, curious to see who would take charge. Who would finally end this little game of cat and mouse? You didn’t think you had enough confidence to be the one to put a stop to the games you were playing and admit how hard you’ve fallen for him.

However, as life tugs you both along, curious things unfold.

You cracked open the bathroom door to peep out, holding your breath in case he was just outside. This was new to you, as Aizawa was typically asleep for as long as he could be. His record is 19 hours straight after a hard mission. Your record was nine hours, and you were damn proud of yourself for it, too.

You carefully stepped out after turning off the light, trying to creep back to your bedroom without getting caught. It’s not like you wanted to avoid Aizawa, you just didn’t want him to catch you up this late again. Though as soon as you took your first step out into the hallway, he spoke, the words making you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” You swallowed around the lump in your throat as you stood straight.

“I thought you didn’t know I was up,” you said with a grin, but Aizawa could see how tired you were.

“I’m a pro-hero,” he hummed, a coffee mug warming his hands. “It’s almost insulting that you thought I didn’t notice you. Now, why are you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Pro-hero,” you retorted, earning a worn chuckle. The distant look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know to understand why he was awake as well.

Nightmares.

You knew all too well that Aizawa’s night terrors were a force to be reckoned with. On some nights he even woke up screaming or falling out of bed. Aizawa’s dreams were the only thing that could get such a strong reaction from him.

“Drinking coffee this late can’t be good for you,” you said, changing the subject rather quickly while you headed into the kitchen with your roommate. “Doesn’t a hero with your status need to stay healthy?”

“It’ll keep me up,” he murmured with a strange sort of solemnness infecting his tone.

You couldn’t stop the empathetic look from tainting your face even if you wanted to. You hated nothing more than watching as the hero business ate away at your best friend.

“Hey.” His voice took you from your thoughts. “We’re already up this late, and I doubt either of us will sleep soon, so. . .” Aizawa trailed off as you looked up at him. “So, come sit on the roof with me. Only for a bit.”

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor before you caught yourself and nodded. You hoped that you didn’t look too head over heels for him, but little to your knowledge, Aizawa found your reaction cute.

“Sure, alright,” you said with a small smile, trying to sound nonchalant. You didn’t, but Aizawa didn’t comment on it, sparing your pride. “Ah, wait, let me grab a hoodie-”

“Don’t bother,” he said, just loud enough for you to hear him.

A smirk tainted your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest and accusingly leaned towards him.

“Oh, so you want me to freeze? That isn’t very heroic, mister.” The way you raised your eyebrows got him to spill a chuckle.

“I do not. You can just wear mine."

Leaving the conversation at that, he turned away before you ever saw the pink hue that dusted his face. It took you a second to let his words process before you were following after him like a lost puppy.

It's not a big deal. He's just being friendly and giving, as always. That's the lie you've always told yourself.

“How do we get up on the roof?" You asked as he led you on the small back porch.

Your small smile dropped entirely as he jumped and grabbed the edge of the roof, pulling himself up with practiced ease.

"All right, asshole, not everyone is a pro-hero, so-" You cut yourself off as soft cloth suddenly wrapped around you, acting as a safety harness.

He lifted you to the roof without breaking a sweat. And to be honest, that boosted your confidence by a few points.

"Such foul language doesn't belong in a pretty mouth like yours," Aizawa murmured, his calloused hands carefully pulling his scarf off of your shoulders. He left the cloth on your waist for you to take care of, as he didn't want to overstep any boundaries.

The scarf was the furthest thing from your mind as you hoped the dark sky hid your heavy blush.

He said I was… Pretty. Aizawa… called me pretty.

"You, um…" You tried to start a conversation to distract Aizawa from the fact you weren't removing his scarf. "You got up here stupidly fast. Do you do this often?"

He didn't comment on the matter of his scarf, silently using it to justify why he was sitting this close to you.

"I'm a stealth hero. I'm always jumping rooftop to rooftop," he reasoned, heavy eyes taking in the ever so familiar landscape.

"That's not what I asked," you prodded gently. "Do you come up here often, this late at night?"

You wanted him to trust you, to tell you what was obviously plaguing his thoughts or what had scared him sleepless this time. You were well aware trust wasn't given easily, especially for someone like him. Someone who's been hurt time and time again.

His jaw shifted, and you were too concerned about his mental health to think of how handsome he was with his sharp features.

"Sometimes. When the dreams aren't incredibly terrible," he muttered after a thick swallow.

You hummed to let him know that you understood, your body shifting a minuscule closer to his warmth. He noticed, and without a word pulled his hoodie over his head. You two were sitting so close that you needed to lean to the side to avoid getting elbowed.

"Hey, what are you-"

He smiled gently as he set the article in your lap, and the sight alone shut you up. He was gorgeous, basking in the never-sleeping city lights.

"Didn’t I tell you? You can wear my jacket if you're cold."

Be still your beating heart, because if it didn’t soon, you were sure he'd think someone was knocking at the door with how loud it was pounding against your ribs.

With a painfully flustered chuckle to fill the silence, you put it on. And, God, you'd be content dying surrounded by his scent of heavy rain and the forest. A small thank you filtered off your tongue. Using the visual excuse of adjusting how it pooled at your hips, you shifted ever closer.

"You know-"

"Sometimes-"

You had both gone to speak at the same time, earning a soft giggle from you and a deep chuckle from him.

"You go first," you offered with a gentle smile.

"Only if you go after, no matter what," he playfully demanded.

As you agreed, you watched his eyes lingered on you, something indescribable dancing behind the walls of charcoal. With a deep breath, he faced the horizon.

"Sometimes when I drive, I'll turn on the radio. Just to have some background noise. I don't pay attention to it, though, because most of the music is shit," Aizawa started, something in his chest swelling as you chuckled at him. "But then, when I was sitting in the UA teacher's parking lot, something hit me as I listened to a sappy song."

"What? That you're getting old?" You teased, trying to break some of the tension in his shoulders.

"I realized that all of a sudden, every love song was about you."

Your soft gasp sounded like a nuclear bomb to him and he screwed his eyes shut. He knew he should've stayed in bed.

"I..." Aizawa moved to stand. "I should go back to sleep," he finished rather quickly.

Your nibble fingers gripped his pants leg and he froze entirely, like a child who’d been caught eating candy past midnight.

"Hey… What happened to our little deal?" Your caring tone caused him to hesitate. "Please, Shouta, won't you hear what I have to say?"

Shouta. How pretty it sounded rolling off your tongue.

He swayed in the morning breeze, the very beginning of a sunrise highlighting his dark features. And then he sat, avoiding looking at you at all costs.

"As I was going to say before I was thankfully interrupted," you began, adjusting the sleeves of your (his) jacket. You took a deep breath, hyping yourself up to finally fess up as he did. "You know when you look at a kitten, you think of Shinsou? Or when you see candy apples, you think of Eri?" You asked, earning a stiff nod.

"Everything has started reminding me of you. From sleep bags to your favorite dark chocolates, and baggy clothes like the ones you rarely allow me to borrow, or a coffee mug you'd like. You're always running through my mind," you took a breath, needing to get some air after your fast-paced rant.

You both sat in heavy silence, the dew in the grass glinting from the rays of marigold that poured over the horizon.

"Can I do something stupid?" He asked quietly, shifting in his spot.

" 'Course. It's about time we swapped roles," you humored.

Smokey-colored eyes bored into yours as he faced you, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped. You'd never seen him so… beautifully revealing.

Suddenly you were surrounded by warmth, Aizawa no longer looking at you. He hugged you so desperately, it was as if he thought you'd leave him. He scruff tickled your neck as he nuzzled into you, but you couldn't care less.

The way you didn't need to think twice about returning the hug made him smile against your skin. You both sat there on the roof, basking in rays of fresh morning sunlight, never letting go of each other.

"It was about losing you," Aizawa breathed, breaking the blissful silence. "My nightmare… In it, I had lost you forever."

You closed your eyes, one hand tenderly massaging his scalp with the other held him closer to you. "I'm right here, Shouta. I'm not going anywhere," you reassured, feeling his breathing pattern calm. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah…" He whispered, voice heavy with sleep and concern.

"Let's get back to bed, okay?" You murmured, feeling the weight of your feelings change from suffocating to soaring.

"Not yet. Please… I just wanna stay with you." Aizawa pulled you impossibly closer and you smiled.

"Whatever you wish, but don't blame me when you're sore tomorrow." You felt him chuckle as his eyes drooped shut.

" 'm always sore anyways."

[funtimebunnyblog]

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 16: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Heeey, look at that, I’m behind! Day 16: When your soulmate listens to music, you hear it in your own head as well. 

Content warnings: assumed death of a soulmate (he’s not dead), depression, general sad vibes.

Word count: 2.6k

Note: the songs referenced in this fic are IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 and Love is Gone by SLANDER. Both of these songs make me cry and were the inspiration for this.

It was at midnight on December 19th when Roman’s soulmark first appeared. He didn’t realize this until 1am.

Granted, he didn’t know it was his soulmark for the first hour.

At first, the almost imperceptible steady beat in his head just seemed like a song that had gotten stuck in there. He didn’t remember ever hearing the song, but it wasn’t unlikely that he’d heard the tune at the store or on the radio and it unconsciously ingrained itself into his memory. He was working on an assignment that was due in the morning, a script analysis for one of his Theatre courses, and had begun to bop his head along to the music when his roommate walked in, eyes bleary and arms laden with books.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” He asked through a yawn, dropping the books on his desk and flopping into the bottom bunk. 

“I could ask you the same question, Pat,” Roman hummed, completing his conclusion paragraph with a dramatic flair of his hands. “Just finished my paper. Going now.”

“Lost track of time at the library,” Patton murmured in response, draping his arms over his eyes. 

Closing his computer, Roman popped his back and climbed up the small ladder into the top bunk, using his cellphone as a flashlight. He assumed Patton was already fast asleep (the man could fall asleep at the drop of a hat) and tried to follow suit, only to sit up in annoyance after several minutes.

Whatever song was stuck in his head was keeping him up. 

He remembered a tip he’d seen on the internet once, that said if you sing the last part of the song, it’s easier to get out of your head. Something about ‘your brain needing to complete it to be satisfied’ or whatever. As hard as he focused, though, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what song it was, much less the ending. 

The more he concentrated on it, the louder it seemed to get, until it was no longer a hum of bass in the back of his skull, and he could make out the lyrics, the guitar solos, everything. He definitely hadn’t heard this song before. It wasn’t the kind you’d hear playing in public; it was loud, swears thrown in every chorus, just generally the kind of thing you’d hear in a Hot Topic but nowhere else. 

And then it stopped.

For a split second he was pleased, thanking his brain for finally shutting off, and conceded to lie back down. He might be able to get six hours of sleep at this rate. Pretty good, for a college student. 

Except as soon as he closed his eyes, another song started. It was another one he didn’t know, one he would have no way of knowing each word to. The realization hit him hard and his eyes shot open, nearly falling off the ladder in his haste to climb down.

“Roman? Everything okay?” Patton drawled, clearly having been woken up by Roman’s enthusiasm. 

“My soulbond!”

“What?!” That got his attention and he jerked up, narrowly missing whacking his head on the top bunk.

“The music in my head all night, it’s my soulmate! It must be his birthday!”

He was pulling up music on his laptop before he’d even processed it, hands freezing over the keyboard as his brain grasped for something to play. What could he play that would properly introduce himself to his soulmate? A show tune? Something from the 80s? But his mind had gone completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single one.

“What do I play, Pat?” He gasped, tapping the mousepad in time with the upbeat tempo in his head. 

Patton was suddenly leaning over his shoulder, clacking a name into the search bar before pressing enter. Roman narrowed his eyes 

“Why that one?”

Patton shrugged, “It’s kind of cheesy romantic, like you. And the first line is fitting.”

“A valid point,” Roman announced, closing his eyes to listen for a pause as the music switched. The second the song ended, he slammed the space bar, begging it to play before the next one started. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

A little more depressing than he initially would have chosen, but he could see Patton’s point. The music on the other end had been paused and he smiled in accomplishment, knowing that he must have heard. He let the song play to the end of the first chorus before pausing it, waiting with his roommate with baited breath.

The silence was almost unbearably long, Patton watching him intently for some kind of indication that the music was back.

Hello,

It’s me.

Adele’s soothing melody filled his mind and he absolutely wheezed with laughter. Patton grinned and let him explain through gasps for air, and he let out a giggle in response.

“Okay,” Roman snorted, “What next?”

Patton passed out probably an hour later after helping Roman pick out songs that would adequately encompass him as a person, but the theatre student didn’t sleep last night. Eventually him and his soulmate found a nice rhythm, each playing a song in turn. It didn’t take long for him to assume that his soulmate was emo (a fact that had him blushing furiously), simply due to the overwhelming amount of My Chemical Romance and Green Day played in his head, and he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was a theatre kid. The second song he played was from Heathers, afterall. 

When his eyes finally started drooping too much to ignore, he knew he had to end this soon. The soulmate’s song ended and he quickly pulled up the first thing he’d thought of, a children’s lullaby, trying to indicate that he had to sleep.

There was quiet on the other end when the song ended, before the beginning trills of Baby Shark started playing and he groaned, quickly muffling the sound with his hand so as to not wake his roommate. He didn’t let it play past one verse, thank Olympus, and then his mind was quiet for the first time in many hours. It seemed like a mutual agreement that ‘now is sleep time’, and Roman went to sleep with a smile on his face.

Their new norm was quickly established in the following weeks. It became obvious almost right away that playing their music at the same time was cacophonous and only caused headaches, so they eventually settled on switching days. Every second morning, Roman would wake up to his alarm and quickly start his morning playlist, a set of rousing, uplifting, exciting songs to get his blood flowing for the day. It was his day to choose the music, so he’d set his walking playlist for class and his study one for the evenings, sometimes playing an adventure podcast or something to spice things up. The other days, he’d be woken by the soft notes of melancholy tunes, starting the day slowly. As the morning progressed, usually by the time he was eating breakfast, the tone would change to something a little more fast paced, as if his soulmate needed to warm up before getting to the main act. As much as the music wasn’t his style, he found himself keeping pace to the beat with his steps, bopping his head along to the melody, humming a harmony to the more commonly played ones. Just knowing that this was his soulmate made it better. 

And then, one day… the music stopped. 

He’d woken up around noon, not a big deal since he didn’t have classes until after lunch anyways, but he knew for a fact that his soulmate was always up by 10, latest. Whether the other had classes or a job that kept his schedule, he didn’t know. It was an oddity for sure that there was no alarm. 

He put it off to the other probably having a sick day, or a free schedule, and he was sleeping in for once. The worry only started creeping in near the evening, when usually at this time, the music would start slowing down again as the sun set. There hadn’t been a peep all day, which was very unlike either of them. Even though the silence bothered him, he wouldn’t dare intrude on the other’s day, so he studied and ate dinner in silence, tapping his pencil against the table. Of course, he put it off to a one day fluke. 

Except, two days after, when it should have been his soulmate’s turn again, there was no music. And the time after that. And the one after that. It was almost two weeks of radio silence on the other end before he called Patton through broken sobs, pleading for him to stop studying and come back to the dorm. Obviously, he made the ten minute walk in five. 

And then Roman admitted the way his anxieties had been spiralling.

“What if- What if our soulbond broke? Did the universe realize we were a mistake? Or… or what if he died?! What if he’s hurt or dying or alone and I’m just-”

Patton shushed him gently, rubbing his back as Roman hiccuped into his shoulder. “When did this start?”

“Two- two weeks ago.”

“Then isn’t it possible that he just isn’t listening to music for a little while? Maybe he’s… somewhere without wifi. Or his phone broke.”

Even though he very much didn’t believe a word Patton was saying, he nodded along messily, clutching Patton’s shirt tighter. He eventually agreed to give him more time, hold on just a little longer, before completely giving up.

It took about a month before he did, and it didn’t get better from there. 

Their consistency had been their norm for almost nine months, over summer break and now into the new school year, and now it was torn away without warning. Roman refused to listen to music on days that weren’t his, even though Patton tried to tell him it was okay, but he wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He mourned his soulmate the same way he would mourn a close friend’s death, for he truly believed he was gone for good. The person he’d barely gotten to understand, much less meet, and he was just… gone. He was going to live the rest of his life without a soulmate.

Most nights he just did the bare basics of the homework he had to do, without any of the old flair he’d put into all his work, and curled onto his bed to watch a show or, on his days, listen to music. His old playlists had shifted to the bottom of his rotation, now only bringing sadder memories that Patton had insisted he not indulge in at this point, so it was usually just automated lists he found. Nothing was special about them anymore. 

Today was his day, an uneventful Saturday where the most exciting occurrence was Patton convincing him to come to the cafeteria and eat with other people. It had been tiring and only made him feel more alone, so his daily scheduled moping times had come up a little earlier. Patton had given him a hug and a gentle kiss on the head, telling him he had to go meet some people for a group project, and to call if he needed anything, before grabbing his bag and leaving. Roman didn’t miss the sad look tossed his way before the door shut.

Despite Patton’s advice, he was feeling particularly shitty today, and his fingers, seemingly with a mind of their own, pulled up one of his older playlists. One of the ones that was reminiscent of days when he actually had a soulmate. He clicked shuffle and tossed the phone onto the pillow next to his head, curling that much deeper into his blankets, as if he could somehow refill the void that had been cut out of him. 

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don't know you yet.

The first song he’d ever played had become a sort of inside joke between them. Despite the song’s sad melody and somber lyrics, it was a reminder of the first time they’d interacted; an awkward, laughter filled night. At least, it had been on Roman’s night, and he could only hope it had been the same on the other end. 

He didn’t even realize he was crying until the pillow beneath him was tear stained and gross to lay on. Why had the universe chosen him as the target for its cruel irony? Not that he wished this on anyone else… but why couldn’t soulmates be foolproof? Why was there that margin for error, the always-there possibility that everything you’ve ever dreamed of will be ripped out of your hands just as soon as you think you have it? So close, but so far. At least before they’d connected, he’d lived in blissful hope and ignorance. 

The song ended and he pressed pause lethargically, not able to find the emotional strength to listen to more. Maybe Patton had been right. A glance out the window showed that it was well past nightfall, the full moon gleaming into his window, and he decided to just sleep the emptiness away. It hadn’t worked so far, but maybe tonight was the night. He turned off his phone screen and plugged it in to charge, rolling away to face the wall, and waited for the soothing peace of sleep to take over him.

At first, he thought it was just a hallucination, wishful thinking. More than once in the three months since his soulmate disappeared, he’d thought he’d heard music, only for the feeling to disappear as soon as he focused on it. A soulbond only became louder when concentrated on, so he eventually realized he was doing it to himself subconsciously, his mind struggling to fill the emptiness that had once been filled by the other’s music. 

When it disappeared, he figured it was music from someone else’s dorm filtering through the thin walls. But no, this was too clear, too distinct, too ingrained, to be coming from an external source.

He calmed his racing heart before he could jump to conclusions. This music isn’t like what his used to be. It must be your brain, because he’s gone. He’s GONE, Roman.

Much as he tried to push it down, he couldn’t. It was becoming evident that no, something was happening, and it had to do with his soulmate. As he had done for the time he’d known (could it be considered ‘knowing’) the other, he concentrated on the lyrics, because those were the only feeble ways they’d interacted in those times. 

I’m sorry,

Don’t leave me,

I want you here with me, 

I know that your love is gone.

I can’t breathe,

I’m so weak, 

I know this isn’t easy,

Don’t tell me that your love is gone,

That your love is gone.

Patton walked in after his group meeting to see Roman sobbing in his bed and, immediately assuming the worst, he jumped onto the bed and pulled him into his arms. Through gasps for breath, Roman was able to choke out that, “He’s back. He’s playing music. He’s back. He’s back.”

Part 2 HERE

[sinnergetreadymp3]

CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC

Uhhhhh I feel like I should give this a title but I have no idea what to call so uh, nevermind !!

Anyways,I finally finished the fic I said I was writing like,a month ago lol. All my Chameron stans out there this one's for u,I rlly hope at least one person enjoys this,I rlly enjoyed writing it !! Ok sappy stuff outta the way,here it is:

As rain pounded against the window Charlie sent what was probably the thousandth crumpled ball of paper across the room.

"Jesus Charlie,is your arm not getting tired?"

Charlie smirked at that, clearly preparing to make a dirty minded joke,but a thoroughly exhausted Richard Cameron was already one step ahead.

"You know what,forget I asked, you're gross."

Getting up from the seat at his desk and ignoring an indignant retort from Charlie, Cameron thought of the rest of his friends,out for the weekend. Todd and Neil celebrating their one year anniversary, Meeks and Pitts embarking on a two day road trip,for what they still claimed to be, entirely platonic reasons (although the rest of the poets were all too aware of the almost palpable romantic tension between them). Even Knox had found something to do with himself on this miserable Friday night.

And here Cameron was,stuck in his dorm with nothing but stacks of extra homework and his obnoxious roommate to keep him company.

Speaking of that obnoxious roommate, "Oh come on Cam,you're not seriously going to bed already,it's barely eight!"

"Shut up Dalton,I'm tired."

Refusing to admit defeat, Charlie sprung from his own bed into Cameron's, attempting to wrestle the poor boy from his comfortable position.

"Charlie,get off you psycho!" Cameron managed to get out, already laughter threatening to give away just how welcome his friend's childish antics were.

After a few more minutes of "fooling around" as Charlie insisted on calling it (mostly because of how profusely it made Cameron blush),the two boys lay breathless beside each other,trying desperately to think of something else to do that would ward off impending boredom.

After a few moments of comfortable silence,Charlie suggested,looking expectantly towards the ginger, "Wanna go to the cave?"

With extreme,mind numbing boredom as motivation, it was inevitable that Cameron would say yes. It certainly helped that Charlie was gazing at him with those oh-so convincing doe eyes of his. Charlie Dalton and his stupid,gorgeous eyes. And his stupid,gorgeous smile,which Cameron was abso definitely not thinking about as he got up and grabbed his coat.

The two boys trudged through the woods,bickering lightly when Cameron complained of the cold that Charlie apparently couldnt feel at all,but always with an unusually friendly air between them. Before long they were sat together in the middle of the cave,sharing an apple that Cameron had managed to salvage from somewhere (a feat Dalton was of course impressed by),and trading stories of girls and parties galore. In Cameron's case, the stories of girls were few and the parties were from years long before even middle school,so Charlie did most of the talking.

After a while though,the boys came to discussing their friends,and the luck they all seemed to have in finding each other so easily. Charlie, ever the romantic,made no waste of his extensive vocabulary,tediously lamenting on all the opportunities of love he had missed and the everlasting loneliness he was doomed to,all because his dashing knight in shining armour would never come to find him and-

"Why dont *you* just find somebody?"

Charlie,still sprawled dramatically over a rock ,and mildly offended at the interruption,indignantly questioned "What do you mean?"

"What I said? You dont just have to wait around for somebody to come find you and fall madly in love. Why don't *you* just find somebody?"

He thought for a moment,taken aback by the ginger's harsh words,but eventually decided to humout him for a moment.

"And where exactly do you suggest I find him then, hm?"

Cameron shifted in his seat,not expecting to be taken seriously and certainly not prepared to be giving advice. Especially not *this* kind of advice. Especially not to *charlie*.

"Well,uh," he looked up to see the other boy looking at him expectantly,with that ever-present smirk on his face that, oddly enough,made Cameron feel a little more comfortable.

"Maybe,you could,I don't know, consider that the guy you're looking for has been here the whole time?"

"Wow Cam,Pittsie and Meeks' radio must've really gotten to you. All those love songs have turned you into a big softie." Charlie joked,grinning and nudging Cameron playfully.

Through a soft laugh,Cameron continued, "No I'm serious man,I think you're making this whole love thing way harder for yourself. I mean- and be honest with me, what's actually wrong with the guys at our school?"

"Other than the fact that about three quarters of them are raging heterosexuals?"

Laughing again,Cameron replied "yeah,other than that."

After about zero seconds of careful consideration,he had come to a conclusion, "Well,I guess nothing,but I dont know? Cameron, I don't see how this changes-"

"It *changes* things because clearly you don't anything about half the guys at our school. And you can't write off people you don't even know." At some point, Cameron had gotten up and started pacing around,but with the end of this triumphant speech,he finally sat down,a little closer to the other boy than he had been before.

Charlie looked across at Cameron and was suddenly met with a wave of fondness. Weird,how all it took was to sit and talk for a while before someone you thought you near hated,started to feel like your favorite person in the world. And,was he going completely crazy or Cameron at his most comfortable, without the fear of a teacher lurking nearby,without the stress of constantly trying to prove himself,was he... A little..... attractive??

All at once,Charlie made a decision,partly to try and prove himself wrong,but also because hey,if Richard Cameron was the surprise love of his life,what better time to figure it out than right now?

"So how,sir Richard Cameron,do you propose I get to know all these charming suitors?"

Cameron, completely in the dark about Dalton's recent epiphany,was still stubbornly trying to explain how much easier Charlie's love life could be,if only he would let it.

"Well,maybe by actually talking to them? Y'know,kind of like,What we're doing right now."

"So,what you're saying is,*you* could be my knight in shining armor," he said with a smirk.

"Well,that's not what-"

"No,no it's fine,as long as we're talking about this version of you. Regular Cameron is kind of a buzzkill but Cave Cam is actually a kind of.... And I can't believe I'm saying this but,in here,like this...well. You're actually a little hot."

After this, overwhelmingly romantic confession, Charlie was certain he had completely stuffed it,and sure enough,

"Gee Charlie,thanks. Really makes me wanna ride into the sunset with you." To say Cam's ego had been hit was an understatement,but before he could make a swift exit from the cave and lock himself,alone,in his dorm for the rest of the weekend,of course Dalton kept talking.

"God,I'm sorry,that was, I have no idea why I said that. I thought I was being funny but out loud- god I'm so sorry," while he had initially been mad,seeing Charlie fucking Dalton blush (and because of *him* no less) was rather funny. And sure,a little cute. So Cameron decided to hear him out.

"Can I start over? You're not saying anything so I'm gonna start over. I,uh, I really do think you're hot. Like really hot. And not just right now,all the time,like that time we were at rowing practice and I started pushing you around and we ended up on the floor and I saw like,a single sliver of skin because your sweater had ridden up,and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day,which I thought was a little weird but then-"

"Uh,I think I get it,Charlie." Now Cameron was the one blushing.

"Uh,sorry. What I meant was,that I *do* think you're hot l-"

"As you've said"

"Yeah,yeah,but it's more than that. Like,when I realized we'd basically be spending the whole weekend alone together,I was actually sorta excited for that,even though I knew I'd just be sitting by you while you did homework the whole time,I like,wanted to do that. And tonight,I haven't talked like this with anyone who isn't Neil like,ever. What I mean is,I guess,is that,I think that uh,"

Deciding to lighten the mood,Cameron tried for a little sarcasm, "Wow,Dalton, stuttering? I must be superman or something."

"I'm trying to be romantic here Carrot top," Charlie said with a grin,

"Listen,I don't really know what I'm doing here,but I think it might be kinda nice if we tried having a little romantic weekend of our own. Just to try it. If it totally sucks we can pretend it never happened and the others don't have to know about it and-"

"Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Relax," Cameron said with yet another laugh ,he didn't think he laughed like this since... Well,he couldn't even remember.

So with a radiant smile on his face,he said,"A romantic weekend of our own sounds amazing. Gotta warn you tho I'm not a great kisser."

"Well, lucky for you I am a great teacher," Charlie replied,with a somehow even bigger smile on his face than Cameron's,

"Why are you laughing,I *am* a great teacher!" Unfortunately for Charlie,his indignance only made Cameron laugh harder.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"If you shut up and stop laughing,maybe you'll get to." After this was all it took to get the ginger to sober up, the look on his face pushed Charlie to make his final,but (in his opinion) most important decision of the night.It was high time he flirt with Cameron way more often (which was *very* difficult to explain to the other poets,at least the first time).

[caslikescoffeeandfreckles]

#SpnStayHome 04/13 prompt: Gentleman

@bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 @pray4jensen pls except my late trash i’m sorry

now available on A03

Dean hears the front door slam again and sighs, body moving out into the living room before he can even think about it.

There he finds Castiel slumped against the door, fists clenched but face deprived of any little fight he had left.

“Didn’t go well, I take it?” Dean asks grimly.

Cas doesn’t even open his eyes.

Dean edges toward the couch, letting Cas have his space and choice to talk. “I’m sorry, man.”

It takes a while, but Dean waits, knees pulled to his chest, toes wiggling in his socks with the urge to run over and hug Cas close, stroke his hair, kiss his lips. Tell him that Dean is here for him, in any way Cas will have him.

Which is exactly why he stays put.

“It’s like I’m cursed,” Cas finally whispers. When Dean looks up, Cas’s eyes are finally open and the disappointment is dark blue and heavy.

“It’s not you, Cas,” Dean tells him for the thousandth time. “You just... keep dating jerks.”

Cas laughs but there’s no humor. “Pretty sure that still makes me the problem. I just... I’m so tired of trying.”

Dean would like to tell him that he doesn’t have to try. But that would be unwelcome and not to mention completely inappropriate given the situation.

It’s not that Dean has necessarily tried to hide his feelings for Cas over the years. In fact, he’s been more obvious about his crush on his roommate than he’s ever been with any former partners. Maybe he hasn’t said it in so many words but... actions speak louder right?

Which left Dean with just two possibilities: either Cas was an oblivious idiot or not interested.

And Cas is anything but an idiot.

The quiet rejection hurt more than Dean would ever let on. But Cas never allowed it to affect their friendship, never indicated that he was uncomfortable with Dean’s gestures. Dean still tried to dial it back and challenged himself to be the best friend Cas deserved even if that meant listening to him chatter about the guys he was talking to and picking up the pieces after the guys blew everything apart.

“Or maybe this is what I deserve...”

Dean’s head whips up when Cas speaks again, mostly to himself. “What?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know, I just... I’m starting to think maybe this is what dating is like. Maybe I have just have too high standards or I’m being unrealistic.”

Dean shakes his head as Cas talks but Cas isn’t looking, into act he’s already peeling himself off the door and heading to his room, head still bowed and shoulders down.

He looks so sad and defeated and Dean wants to argue but bites his tongue.

He hears Cas’s door click shut and closes his own eyes.

In no world should someone as amazing as Cas leave a bad date feeling that it’s what he deserves...

Cas has to know that. He deserves the best partner, the best dates, the best kind of love story.

And maybe Dean isn’t the one he wants that love story with. But Dean can at least open the book for him.

The next Saturday, Dean makes up an excuse for a celebratory dinner and tells Cas to get cleaned up.

He leads Cas to the impala, hustling to open the door for him which Cas raises an eyebrow at. Dean just smiles and carefully shuts the door once Cas is safely inside.

“Pick something,” he says, gesturing to the radio.

“You’re letting me pick the music?” Cas asks and the incredulity is not lost.

“I’m feeling generous.”

“But what happened to driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?” His voice changes as he quotes Dean to himself and laughs.

Dean bites a grin and keeps both hands on the wheel. “Just pick something good before I change my mind.”

The restaurant isn’t a super fancy place but it’s a grade above the kind of dives Dean usually patrons. He hadn’t wanted something so fancy that he and Cas felt uncomfortable, but also not a place where a brawl was likely to break out at any moment.

He isn’t able to get out before Cas opens his own door but he does manage to hold the restaurant door for him and even allows a brief touch to Cas’s lower back as he passes. Cas doesn’t flinch or frown or look at him weird. In fact, he may not have noticed at all.

They get an intimate little table by the windows and Dean holds Cas’s chair out for him.

Cas does frown now, looking at Dean like he’s lost his mind or grown a second a head. “What are you doing?”

“Holding out your chair for you,” Dean responds like it’s normal.

Hesitantly, Cas steps closer and lowers himself into the seat as Dean pushes him in. “What a gentleman,” Dean hears him rumble, a soft tone of amusement in his voice.

Dean can’t help a grin as he claims the seat opposite of Cas and shrugs. “Mary Winchester wouldn’t have raised anything less.”

A knowing grin steals across Cas’s lips. “No, she wouldn’t.”

They have an excellent dinner. Cas picks something from the wine list and Dean goes with it, not understanding any of the words Cas uses to describe the flavor but enjoying it all the same. Their food is delicious and even though Dean could happily wolf down every bite, he offers some to Cas, raising his fork to Cas’s lips and stomach stirring with wild butterflies when Cas opens his mouth to accept. Cas looks a little red for a few minutes after that, which pleases Dean to his toes.

“Don’t forget your leave room for dessert,” Dean says when Cas leans back against his chair.

“Dessert?” Cas repeats. “What was it we’re celebrating, again?”

Dean shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter why. Just matters that we’re together, right?”

When Cas doesn’t respond right away, Dean feels hot fear rush through him. Maybe he went a little too far, veering into romantic side of things. Sure, he wants to show Cas what a good date can be like, what it’s like to be properly wooed and romanced. But that doesn’t change the fact that Cas only wants him as a friend.

“Right,” Cas says at long last, his voice soft and quiet again. “Together.”

They order their dessert and once again Dean finds himself spoon feeding Cas a taste of his chocolate pie. But this time, there are no nervous butterflies. This time, it’s all heat. A searing, thick heat that fills his lower half and runs down his skin, tight, as Cas’s eyes seem to glaze over with something Dean’s never seen before, something desperate and primal and eager as his pink lips separate and Dean catches just the faintest glimpse of his tongue before he licks the treat into his mouth.

Dean’s pretty sure he’s the one sitting there like a bright red tomato after that.

When all is finished and the dishes are clear, the waiter leaves a single bill on the table.

“Oh, we’ll need two checks,” Cas starts.

But Dean is already sliding his card into the folder. “This is fine,” he says and hands it back to the waiter.

The admonishment is loud and clear and Cas says Dean’s name. “You’re the one we’re supposed to be celebrating tonight. If anyone should be paying, its me.”

“Maybe next time,” Dean promises and prays there will be a next time. If not here, then in the next life or in some alternate universe where Cas feels the same and goes on real dates with Dean where they can share bites of food without feeling nervous and bicker over the bill knowing it doesn’t matter.

Cas leans back, eyes scanning Dean suspiciously before he grins. “I feel like we’re on a date almost,” he says and laughs. Like it’s the craziest idea in the world. Impossible.

The laugh hurts but Dean swallows it down and smiles. “It can be whatever you want it to be.”

Cas’s smile vanishes and Dean could slap himself. Definitely too far.

Luckily, the waiter returns then. Dean busies himself signing the receipt and leaving a generous tip.

“Have a lovely evening, gentlemen,” their waiter says. “We hope to see you again.”

Dean doesn’t let his nerves ruin his plan as he and Cas stand and he gestures for Cas to walk ahead. He still holds the door for Cas and opens the car door for him, all the while ignoring the strange look on Cas’s face.

Cas doesn’t bother with music on the drive home and Dean is too scared to let his hands stray from the wheel.

He crossed a line somewhere, he knows — can sense it. Maybe this idea hadn’t been the best or the most mature. He’d just wanted to show Cas what he was deserving of, how he should expect to be treated when he granted someone his time and attention.

The idea of Cas settling for less or internalizing all of his romantic mishaps as his fault is just not acceptable in Dean’s book. The man sitting next to him is the closest thing to perfection Dean has ever known and deserves nothing bht the best, better than everyone. Better than Dean.

When they arrive home, Cas still isn’t speaking but he also doesn’t move to get out. Dean wants to ask if he’s okay, if Dean did something wrong. But truthfully, he’s too scared to know the answer.

So he gets out and goes to open Cas’s door. Cas still takes a moment before he gets out and he doesn’t look at Dean.

They walk up to their apartment in silence and Dean unlocks the door with shaking fingers.

Cas still isn’t speaking and Dean is feeling sicker and sicker by the second. It’s time to end this and pretend this night never happened.

So with a dramatic yawn, Dean starts tugging off his suit jacket and makes a beeline for his room. “Well, good night, Cas,” he says over his shoulder, too afraid to look back. “Thanks for coming with me. I’ll talk to you-”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts.

Dean freezes, turning around but not looking directly at Cas. “Uh, yeah?”

He can’t see the expression on Cas’s face, can only see the shadow of his hand moving against his thigh as he nervously grapples with the material. Dean definitely fucked this up.

“Was tonight... a date?”

Dean doesn’t like lying to Cas and normally an opening like this is what he dreams of. But after the way Cas has been acting since he joked about it only feeling like a date, Dean almost can’t find the courage to take it. Almost because, even though he’s terrified, there’s still that little bit of logic left that says at least if he’s honest now and gets the answer he anticipates he’ll finally be free to move on.

And maybe that’s what Cas truly needs. Not some desperate idiot trying to show him a good time, but a true friend with no ulterior motives.

“Uh, I mean, kind of,” Dean says at last. “But, like, it doesn’t have to be. I’m sorry if I made things weird. I wasn’t trying to. I just...” He tries to think of the best way to explain himself but there’s really now way to spin it where he doesn’t look like a pathetic creep. “Look, I’m sorry, Cas. I wasn’t trying to trick you or make your uncomfortable or anything. I just wanted to show you a good time after what happened last weekend.”

“By taking me on a date without telling me?”

Dean winces, because damn. This is a lot worse than he thought. “Yeah, I realize how fucked up that was now. I guess when you said that you deserved all that bad stuff that kept happening to you, I wanted to prove you wrong?” There’s a hurricane of nerves tearing through Dean’s body and he really can’t tell if he’s going to be sick or have a heart attack. “But tricking you into a date was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Dean has the decency to at least look Cas in the eyes when he apologizes and he’s a little shocked to not find disgust or burning hatred in his best friend’s eyes. In fact, if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say Cas looks confused and maybe... nervous? Of what, Dean can’t imagine.

“Why...” Cas begins, slow and soft. “Why did you think you had to trick me into a date?”

Dean’s face pinches, remembering all the rejections at once. “Because you’ve never said yes before?” 

Cas’s eyes widen. “To a date?”

Dean just nods.

“But when did you ask me out?”

A slimy sort of feeling settles in Dean’s gut, feeling suspiciously like doubt. But... that can’t be right. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me...” 

“Messing with you?” Cas echoes. Before Dean can even turn around, there’s a hand gripping his wrist and holding him in place. Cas’s eyes have bloomed into something wild and desperate, like the look he had when Dean was feeding him at dinner. “Dean, I feel like we’re not having the same conversation here. You’ve never asked me out because that is certainly not something I would forget and there is no chance in hell I would have said no once let alone multiple times.”

Dean stares, trying to understand if Cas is lying or if Dean has really been that big of an idiot this entire time. “I used to ask you out all the time!” he finally shouts. “I-I-I asked you out to dinner like a month after we moved in together. I asked you out to see that band you like when they were in town! I tried to take you bowling! I invite you to the movies all the time but you always say no! I even tried to kiss you at that Halloween party last fall and you almost pushed me off the couch!” That was when Dean had finally given up. Message received loud and clear. 

Realization brightens Cas’s eyes before the shock sets in. “I thought you were just drunk!” Cas exclaims. “And I didn’t want to kiss you while you were intoxicated. Wait, you mean you bought those concert tickets as a date?” Something close to horror crosses Cas’s face. “Oh god, and I took-”

“Balthazar,” Dean mumbles. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says and there’s a regret in his voice that Dean has never heard before. “I had no idea.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. Cas looks like he’s just had a life-changing revelation and Dean feels like he’s treading muddy water, an ocean of bad memories and self-deprecating thoughts without even a light to guide him. 

Because Cas is saying that he never knew. That all those times Dean thought he was being obvious and brave, Cas was completely clueless. That Cas hasn’t been rejecting Dean all this time. He never knew Dean was interested. And it kind of sounds like... Cas has been interested. 

“Dean?” Fingers snap in his face and Dean blinks back to reality to find Cas staring at him, eyes a little less wild and more worried. They soften when Dean focuses. “You’re thinking too hard,” Cas says.

“I’m confused,” Dean admits slowly. 

He doesn’t recognize the face Cas is making now but it makes him feel hot and like he wants to jump out of his skin but also freeze this moment in time forever so he never has to see anything else ever again. It makes him feel like he’s choking but also breathing properly for the first time in his life. Like they’re the only two left in the entire universe but also like they are the universe at the same time? So unthinkably big but small, everything and nothing. Loved. So incredibly, poetically loved.

“I think I can get you caught up,” Cas whispers.

Before Dean can think, he feels soft lips press into his. 

There are no fireworks because those would have been loud and distracting for a moment as precious as this. It’s a quiet, private sort of explosion between them, a galaxy being born and filling with more and more stars with every passing second. 

Dean doesn’t no how long they stay suspended in space, doesn’t really care. He knows that when they separate, he feels different. Like a different person. Like his body isn’t fully his own anymore. And he loves it. 

“I could do that forever,” Cas breathes against his lips because he didn’t go far. Hopefully never will.

“Me too.”

He feels Cas smile and he tingles with it. 

“Then I think we should go to bed,” Cas says, then pauses, eyes frowning. “Wait. Are we going too fast?”

Dean can’t help but laugh. “Well I don’t know what you were expecting but, for the record, I don’t put out on the first date. I’m a gentleman, remember?”

Cas’s laugh is warm air against Dean’s chin. He doesn’t respond and the silence is not awkward or anxious. It feels just as precious as their first kiss, in fact, just as right and comfortable. There’s a permission in that moment, to study one another and to learn through touch and taste.

Dean longs to kiss Cas’s jaw and so he does. Keeps kissing until he reaches Cas’s ear and nibbles on the lobe. Feels the way Cas shivers against him and knows he’ll never be able to deny Cas a thing.

He whispers, “But for you I’ll make an exception.” 

He thinks Cas will always be the exception. And he knows somehow, without being told, that he’ll always be Cas’s.

[lonelyreputation]

Different (part three)

A/N: Sorry it’s a little bit later than usual!! But here’s part three ahh!! I’m so grateful for all the support you all have shown this series it really makes me 🥺 as I cry into my tea you all are THE BEST 💖✨🥂

Anyway…Enjoy part three!! Let me know your thoughts! 💞 💗 There WILL be a part four 😉

Part ONE | Part TWO | Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 3.1K

It had been six months since you successfully scrapped your life clean of your best friend.  Even with all the time that passed, it wasn’t enough for your heart not to ache whenever you heard him on the radio.  So you stopped listening to the radio.

You had taken down all of the pictures where he made an appearance on your Instagram and switched it to private; you blocked him, anyone from his team, and distanced yourself from his friends that had woven their way into your life.  You eventually deleted your twitter account after Shawn tried contacting you from the AG Artist official account.

It had been a painful process, removing your best friend and the person you loved out of your life, but it was necessary for you to reclaim your sanity.  And something else that helped you stop staining your pillows with tears at night was a daily walk in the park.

There was a park ten minutes from your apartment.  And it had become your safe haven whenever you felt the phantom pain of Shawn twisting the knife in your heart six months ago.   Early on, when your roommate noticed something was different when Shawn wasn’t over, or you weren’t at his place constantly, the park was your escape.  And it continued to serve that purpose up until now.

As usual, you were lost up in your head, trying not to replay the scenario of Shawn destroying you in every way possible, when a voice you hadn’t heard in six months call out your name.

“Y/n?”

You froze in the middle of the pathway, taking a deep breath, and holding it in.  Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you stay as still as possible and don’t turn around he won’t know it’s you.

But he called your name again, letting out a small, but awkward laugh.  You shakily released the breath that you held captive in your lungs, as you slowly turned on your heels to face the red head you hadn’t seen since you begged him to keep Shawn from coming after you.

“Brian,” You offered him a wave, still standing in your spot that was a good few feet away from him, “Hi.”

His eyes tried to shine bright, but you recognized the gloominess in them, because you stared into gloomy eyes every time you looked in the mirror.

With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his winter coat, he took a few steps forward, “It’s been––Wow, it’s been too long.  How’ve you been––” he cut himself and offered you a regretful smile, already knowing the answer to his question, “What’ve you been up to.”

“This and that,” you lamely offered him with a shrug of your shoulders.  Your friendship with Brian had suffered greatly when you cut Shawn out of your life.  He was one of his friends that you blocked from all your social media.

“Do you walk here often?”

A cold breeze made you shiver as you gave him another vague answer, “Every now and then.”

You were almost as close to Brian as you were with Shawn, and he could see right through your poor excuse of answers, “Let’s go get a coffee.”

You shook your head, “I have to––”

“I’ll only take twenty minutes of your time,” his shoulders dropped as he looked at you with pleading eyes, “I’ll even pay.”

Knowing how much Brian hated spending money, it took you aback that he was offering to pay.  Never once in your friendship with him had he paid for anything other than what he absolutely needed.

Warily, you nodded your head in response, and a smile lit up his face, “There’s a place not too far, c’mon.”

The walk to the coffee shop was absolutely silent.  Not that you minded it, but you knew that Brian was holding back whatever thoughts were whirling around in his head for the conversation at the coffee shop.

Soon enough, Brain was holding open the door for you to walk through and you were hit with an immediate warmth.  He asked you if you still had the same coffee order, you nodded your head, and he told you to go sit at a table while he ordered the drinks.

You plucked your gloves from your hands, finger by finger, but kept your jacket on.  Your leg bounced under the table and you chewed on your bottom lip.  Twenty minutes, you said to yourself, you’ll give him twenty minutes and then you’re off.

When Brian placed your coffee on the table, you jumped and hit your knee under the wood table, so lost in your head that you didn’t see him appear.  He didn’t say anything about the shake of the table that caused some of your drink to spill over.

“So…” Brain circled his hands around his coffee and tapped his fingers on the white disposable cup, “You’re really done with Shawn?”

Your eyes bulged out of your head as you placed a hand over your mouth, trying not to spurt coffee out of your mouth, at his direct conversation starter.

You patted your chest a few times to clear your throat, “Are we really going to talk about this?”

Brian looked at you with sympathetic eyes, “He really didn’t tell you anything?”

“Told me I destroyed our friendship,” you said bitterly as you took a sip of your coffee, your mind flashing back to the day where your best friend obliterated your confidence, “Asked me what he did so wrong that made me fall in love with him.”

You took a shaky deep breath in and shut your eyes tight.  You had done well in blocking out the memories of that day, but the soul-crushing feeling in your chest that made it difficult to breathe had taken up residence since that day.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Brian said softly, “Trust me––”

“You weren’t there, Brian,” you snapped at him, “He meant every single word.”

It was silent as the two of you drank your coffee.  In the past, you and Brian were always laughing, poking fun at one another, but today could not be further from how you used to interact with one of your closet friends.

After another moment of silence, Brian let out a deep sigh, and he looked at you like he knew he was going to regret the words about to come out of his mouth, “You really hurt him.”

You let out a laugh, “I really hurt him?”  You waited for him to say something else, anything, but he remained silent as he looked into his black coffee, “You have to be kidding.”

Brian shook his head, “He had to go back on tour a week after your falling out,” he rubbed rubbed his eye, “Did you see any videos of his performances?”

“Of course not,” you scoffed out, “Why would I want to see my ex-best friend who shattered my heart?”

Brian rolled his eyes at your childish remark, but didn’t say anything, “He was messing up chords, singing off key…He couldn’t even finish singing When You’re Ready.”

“Why would he have trouble finishing that song?”

Brain took a deep breath and looked like he was about to say something, but he shook his head as he backtracked, “He really didn’t say anything to you?”  You shook your head no, and he let out a deep sigh, “Was it really necessary to just drop him like that?”

“I needed time for myself to stay sane,” you placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward, “Has someone you’ve ever loved tell you to your face that what you’re feeling for them is wrong and then they get mad at you?”

Brian stayed silent and you nodded your head.  If Biran witnessed the full blow out that dismantled your friendship, you knew you wouldn’t be having this conversation.  He would probably not even be speaking to you since he was Shawn’s friend first.

Your eyes were drawn to him tapping his fingers on the table, “But that––That doesn’t make sense,” you looked up at him to see his eyebrows scrunched together as he looked off somewhere in the distance behind you, “You guys are so––so different––”

Different; everyone kept using that word to describe your relationship with Shawn.  

Your friends didn’t even blink an eye when either you or Shawn would randomly start laughing together at something when you were across the room from each other.  Or, when walking down the street; your friends would always joke about how Shawn always held your hand, and whenever you tried to pull your hand away in embarrassment, he would squeeze tight and look down at you with a smile.  

He would bake casseroles with your grandmother.  You had a key to his childhood house in Pickering despite not growing up with him.  He picked up groceries for your parents, because the one time he was over at their house with you, he noticed they were out of cereal.  You showed up to Aaliyah’s science fair to see her win a third place ribbon.

Even after everything…Everything that clearly showed your relationship with him was different than a regular friendship, you weren’t enough for him.

You abruptly pushed back your chair, causing a loud screech on the floorboards, as you begged yourself not to cry when you felt your throat tighten up, “Thanks for the coffee,” you didn’t even bother to slip your gloves back on as you pushed the chair back under the table, rushing toward the door, “But I have to go.”

“It was nice seeing you, Y/n.” His voice was somber, mournful of the friendship lost between the two of you, “See you around?”

“Bye, Brian.”

//////

Christmas Eve was two days away, and while the 24th of December was just another day, you would usually be out helping Shawn buy Christmas presents for his family around this time.  The pang of pain you felt in your chest didn’t subside as you stressed cleaned your apartment, so you decided to transfer your energy into your other coping mechanism; a walk in the park.

The brisk winter air of Canada caused your throat to feel scratchy and dry, so you stopped at the coffee shop Brian had brought you to a week and a half ago, and ordered yourself a hot tea.  The barista was nice enough to double cup the boiling water, but it was still a bit too hot, and you cursed yourself for leaving your mittens on the countertop of your apartment.

You left the shop and crossed a few streets until you were in the familiar park.  Unlike when you first started your walks; the trees held no colorful leaves, children running around with smiles were scarce, and the sharp air nipped at your skin like the tip of a knife was vastly different from the warmth of the sun.

“Y/n?”

It was a voice you hadn’t heard in six months.  A voice that you so desperately wanted to never hear again, but at the same time, the smoothness of his calming voice was ingrained into your mind and you missed the sound of it.

With the surprise of his voice, it caused your hand to shake, and hot tea scorched your exposed skin.

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath, back still turned to him.

“Shit––Sorry,” you saw the familiar black chelsea boots––the ones he would always kick off and leave on your floor before he lounged on your couch––come around to where his toes were pointed toward you, “Here––There’s a uh––There’s a coffee shop not too far from here, I can get you napkins––”

With your head still angled downward, refusing to make eye contact with him, you shook the tingling feeling of boiling water on your skin away, the frigid air helping only just a bit to cool it down, “What are you doing here, Shawn?”

In those six months, you hadn’t uttered his name to a single soul, but it was the only name that replayed over and over again in your mind.

“What am I––I’m helping you clean up?” His voice was nonchalant, as if he hadn’t knowingly broken your heart six months ago, and it made you angry.

“What are you here,” you picked your head up from your shoes to look at him for the first time in six months.

If a stranger were to look upon him, or even if a fan were to dissect a photo of him, he would look completely normal.  But you knew him better than that, you knew him a little too well.  

His jawline had a few pimples scattered across, where he usually broke out when he was under an immense amount of stress.  While it was noticeable he hit the gym on tour, he was skinnier than the last time you saw him.  His hangnails and cuticles were picked at, with his fingernails bitten down, the curl that always hung in front of his forehead was pushed back in place, and eyes lacked their usual bright gleam.

To the world he looked like a twenty-one year old who just finished a massively successful world tour, but to you, he looked different.

He was silent as you took in his appearance, but he soon got uncomfortable under your hard stare, and coughed, “Brian––He uh––He told me––” You could see that he was trying so hard to maintain eye contact, but his eyes nervously darted around the barren park, “––He said you came and walked here every now and then.”

You silently cursed Brian.  Of course he would tell Shawn the best place to find you that wasn’t your apartment.  You were glad that he had the decency to actually grant you the space you pleaded for and not show up at your doorstep.

Not knowing what to say to him, you just stood blankly in front of him, your hand gripping your cup of tea, that should still be piping hot, but you were numb to the pain as Shawn stood in front of you.  

The blistering pain of the hot water was no match for the pain you felt looking at him.

“I…” his words trailed off as his eyes focused on a pebble he lightly kicked with the tip of his boot, but when his eyes looked into yours, all you saw was his eyes mirroring the pain you felt, “I miss you, Y/n.”

You felt your throat tighten up, but manage to squeak out a sentence, “Are you serious?”

“Please,” his voice was begging to rebuild your friendship, “Don’t be like this.”

“You…You told me,” your voice was tight, as his eyes quickly looked down at the cup your hand that was shaking out of rage, “You said that what I felt was wrong and how––how I can’t and shouldn’t feel that way about you––”

“Are we really doing this now?” He let out an aggravated sigh, eyes closed, as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re the one who came to find me,” you said matter of factly, voice laced with malice, “I said I needed space––”

“It’s been six months!” Shawn ran a hand through his curls, “Six god damn months.”  You noticed his muscles straining in his neck, trying not to yell at full capacity, “You’re telling me you want to go longer without being friends?”

You let out a soft sigh, and with a defeated voice you said, “How can we go back to being friends?”

Shawn shook his head, “Don’t––We just have to talk about what happened that day.”

That day.  The day that unequivocally changed the course of your four year friendship with him.  The day that played over in your head like a film on repeat, with you strapped in a chair, reliving the worst day of your life; it’s what your own personal hell looked like.

“We did,” your voice shook as you replayed the worst part of the film in your head; his words.

The way he held resentment in his voice as he said, “That––Can’t––You don’t love me––Not––Not like…That.”  The way he cried because he didn’t want to let you go when you were obviously hurting, “You’re my best friend.  I don’t want space from you.”

But most of all…The most selfish act of the day––that’s still too painful for your mind to drift to––was when he admitted to seeing you outside of the bathroom door, and how he was knowingly entirely confident in diminishing your self-worth, “I thought if you heard I didn’t love you, instead of me saying it to you, we could go back to being normal.”

There was not a chance you could go back to being normal after that.

“And it obviously screwed both of us over,” you sniffled as you brought the back of your hand up to wipe away a tear that had fallen from your eye, “But we talked and there’s nothing more to it.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” his cheeks were looking more red with every sentence you said, and they weren’t red because of the cold.

“Okay then,” you paused and sucked in a deep breath, “Do you love me now or do you still see me as a friend?”

“You’re my best friend––”

“Do you still see me as a friend?”  

It was the loudest silence you had ever heard and you had your answer loud and clear.

“See?” You clenched your teeth together, in hopes to keep the familiar scratchiness of your throat that always preceded your tears, at bay, “Nothing’s changed so there’s nothing to talk about.”

When you felt another tear betray you and fall down the side of your face, you knew you had to leave his presence.  You quickly spun on your heel, but before you could even make it two steps away, a hand took hold of your elbow.

“Y/n, please––”

You tugged your elbow out of his grasp, but this time when the boiling water of the tea fell on your hand, you didn’t feel it, “I told you I needed space,” you peered over your shoulder to see his eyebrows slanted, eyes glistening with tears, and lip quivering, “If you love me as a friend,” you choked the words out, “Then you’ll give that to me.”

You didn’t wait to hear his response, knowing that whatever it would be, would be determined if he either chased after you or let you walk away.

He let you walk home alone.

Tag List:  @fallinallincurls @alina--jpeg @adelaidestreets @5-seconds-of-mendes @particularnarry @now-that-i-saw-u @turtoix​ @shawnsmutal @vinylmendes @mendesficsxbombay @lights-on-mendes @illuminatepotter @shawnmendez

[urimaginespimp]

Michael Gray: Better Man pt 8

This was easier than both of them thought.

Too easy.

It's been three weeks since Michael was exiled into Olivia's life again, and the pair seemed to be getting along.

Polly told him there wouldn't be a need to get a job as she was hopeful his punishment won't last that long, so Michael opted to volunteer help in Olivia's office when he didn't feel like going somewhere else.

He was lounging on her office couch, reading a newspaper tossed to him to keep him occupied while she was signing papers.

"Can you tell me what's on the paper? The silence is deafening here." Olivia asked, too immersed in signing papers from her left, then stacking them on her right to organize later.

"Hmm let me see..." He trailed off.

"Nothing interesting here, Olivia, not even good pictures." He shook his head.

"C'mon Michael, just read anything in there out loud." She insisted.

"Okay..." he trailed off, flipping through the pages, then cleared his throat.

"Handsome man from Birmingham, forced to read uneventful news to a lady whose nose is stuck on paperwork." He said in a tone badly impersonating a radio anchor.

Olivia, realizing that he was jesting, finally looked up from what she was doing to see that he was already looking at her with a grin.

"The only part false about that news, Michael, was when you called yourself handsome." She was struggling to keep a straight face when he looked slightly offended.

"I'd bet the other ladies would think otherwise." He smirked at her.

She scoffed. "Don't you have a paper to read aloud for me?"

"You're not even paying me." He teased.

"I never even ask you to volunteer here." She laughed at him.

Just then, the door to her office and a man about their age walked in.

"Good afternoon." He greeted.

"May I speak with a Mr. Peterson?" He asked while taking off his hat.

"I am him." Olivia stood up from her chair behind the desk.

The man looked surprised that she was a woman, and got flustered.

"I apologize ma'am, my father missed to tell me that you were a woman; let alone young...and attractive."

Olivia chuckled. "It's fine, Mr...?"

"Coleman. Luke Coleman." He gave her a smile, showing his perfect teeth, and extended his hand for her to shake.

As the two shook hands, Michael was still on the couch and didn't like what he was seeing even if he tried denying it in his head. The man before him was getting flustered. Flustered like he was when they first met, and she was all smiles at him too - not the usual formal smile she gave to her clients.

"This must be your husband?" He asked, gesturing to Michael.

Such a simple mistake, yet it made her feel as though the room got smaller.

"Yeah, he wishes." She laughed to play it cool. "He's just a friend reading me the paper." She gave a small laugh again. Though Michael looked at her with an unreadable expression.

"Please..." she gestured for him to take a seat on the chair in front of her desk. "How may I be of help?"

"My father sent me here not for anything money or business related, Miss."

"Please, you may call me Olivia since you're technically not my client." She smiled at him, ignoring the snort she heard coming from the corner.

"Okay, Olivia." He cleared his throat. "He sent me here to formally invite you to our charity event which is three weeks from now." He said, taking out a small envelope from his coat pocket and handing it to her.

Opening the envelope, she read that she could take a plus one.

"Thank you, Mr. Coleman, I'll think about it." She smiled at him.

"It would be a pleasure to see you there, miss. You can take your friend here with you if you'd like." He replied, smiling at Michael, who was now simply staring at them in an unreadable expression.

"I'll be there." The brooding man replied, taking a cigarette out of his pocket, placing it on his lips, then lighting it.

"Thank you, Michael, for inviting yourself to be my plus one." She smiled at him sarcastically which he returned with a smirk, then she turned to face Luke again.

"Would that be all, sir?" She asked with a smile, and he nodded in response.

"Thank you again, for the invitation, Mr. Coleman. Please extend my greeting and gratitude to your father." She stood up again to shake his hand.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there, Olivia. And please, it's just Luke." He stood up from his seat too and shook her hand.

He turned to offer Michael a smile - one he returned with a simple nod of acknowledgement.

When the door to her office finally closed, Olivia turned to Michael.

"What was that about, Michael?" She asked accusingly.

"I don't know what you mean." He was acting nonchalant about it.

"The snorts, basically inviting yourself, smoking while I'm facing a client, not returning the smile?" She looked at him expectantly.

"You said it yourself, he's technically not a client." He let out a puff of smoke. "How about you, and the excessive smiling?" he chuckled.

"I was being nice!" She groaned.

"And getting all defensive and awkward about me?"

"Well what was I supposed to say? We're roommates?" She blinked at him. This was getting a little close to crossing unspeakable territory.

"Okay, I'm sorry." He sighed.

"How sorry are you really?" She asked him, now smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

"Enough to buy you a drink after work. What do you say?" He offered with a smile.

She pursed her lips as if thinking about it. And with a chuckle, she said

"Apology accepted."

--------

New York bars were huge compared to Birmingham's beloved Garrison. People were dancing everywhere, tables were full, a live band was playing jazz, and the variety of drinks were endless.

As promised, Michael took her out for drinks as an apology for acting rude earlier.

She was sitting across him at a table while he gestured for a waiter to come over.

"I hope whiskey is still your favorite." Michael said.

"You're not wrong." She smiled at him.

While Michael was talking to the waiter, Olivia took the chance to really look at him, as this was the closest proximity they've gotten between each other in the three weeks that he's been here.

It's still there - the light freckles he has that she had memorized not long ago. His eyes are still a beautiful shade of blue that could sometimes be mistaken as green. Though they don't look as bright as they used to. Life in Birmingham could do that to you.

Definitely still handsome. She thought to herself. Though she noticed that he was looking a little more relaxed than the first time he got here.

"See something you like?" He caught her staring.

"Yeah, the man sitting a table behind you." She almost gave herself a pat on the back right then and there.

Michael turned to look behind him to see who she was referring to. And sure enough, there was a man. An old man who appears to be enjoying a night out with his old wife.

Michael turned back to face her.

"Livy, no." He laughed at her.

She can't tell if it's her getting caught lying, or that he called her Livy that made her flustered.

"Really, that's who you were staring at?" He teased.

"What's wrong with looking? I was only staring because I noticed that he looks happy with her." She reasoned out.

"Whatever you say, Livy." Though it didn't sound like he believed her.

Thankfully, the waiter was back to serve their drinks. And that was the start of their night.

--------

She has no idea how many rounds of drinks they've gotten, but it was enough for them to start laughing at everything, and for Michael to ask her for a dance.

The band was playing a slow tune this time, and a lot of couples were swaying along to it.

If they were both sober enough, this wouldn't be even come close to a possibility. But tonight, they made a silent agreement to just enjoy each other's company.

After all, the only piece they have of Birmingham in a city as big as New York, was each other.

"I've missed dancing, Michael. It's been so long." She smiled at him.

"I haven't been dancing too. Though I was never really good at it." He chuckled.

"Eh... if you can sway, you'll do." She shrugged.

"I never got to ask you, how's New York been for you before I came here like a lost pup?"

"It was..." she trailed off, thinking of the right answer. "Let's just say before you came, the air wasn't as polluted as it is now." She let out a small laugh.

"Hey, I only smoke now when I'm stressed." He smiled, giving her a little spin.

"Well how was Birmingham before Thomas sent you here for a forced vacation?"

"Still polluted." They both chuckled, and she hit him gently on the arm.

"Okay, it was... all business, booze, smoking, and no dancing." He answered her honestly this time.

"I thought you only smoke when you're stressed?" She asked him, dropping her head to the side, like a child.

"Exactly, Livy." He said, making sure they weren't about to bump into other couples.

"Well you need to stop being mean to your lungs, all the time, Mickey."

"And why is that?"

"If they decide that they don't want that type of life anymore, I'll have nobody to read me my paper." They both laughed. Michael was shaking his head at how playful she was.

He forgot that even back in Birmingham, she didn't treat alcohol like water.

"Okay I think it's time we head home."

And with that, Michael lead them both to get their coats.

--------

The walk home was not that far, but it was long enough to get her back to her senses.

"You know, this was the first time I got a night out in a long time." She opened.

"Two years in this city and you don't have any friends?"

"Well I really can't call my clients as my friends, but I do have one, but she's a lot older and too busy in her business." She haven't gotten the chance to visit Ginny yet. The woman would be expecting updates from her.

Giving her house key to Michael because they haven't gotten it duplicated yet, he opened their front door and gestured for her to come inside first.

"Thank you for the drinks, Michael. I had fun." She yawned sleepily. Though she straightened when she saw that he was getting close.

"Thank you, Livy. I haven't had fun like this in years." He said sincerely, tucking a lose strand of her hair behind.

They were both simply staring at each other, not knowing what to do next.

Michael wanted to kiss her. He had been wanting to since the day he saw her again, but he refrained from letting his impulses get the best of him out of respect for her, and their history.

And maybe he was still a little bit tipsy too, when he got the courage to ask. "Can I kiss you?" He whispered, looking at her intently in the eyes.

As much as she missed him and wanted to feel his lips again, she can't deny that it would be a bad idea.

They haven't even had the courage to finally talk.

"We both know it'll complicate things for us, Michael." She willed herself to be reasonable.

What they have - the whole pretending they're friends thing, was enough for now.

"You're right." He sighed, looking down.

Giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, he gave her a small slightly forced grin, and said "Sleep well, Olivia." Then went up ahead to his room.

"Good night, Michael." She replied quietly, but enough for him to hear.

------

Have an amazing day/night/week/month! ❤️

[unmanageable-day]

By your side | 07

previously ➺ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | intermezzo 01 - 02 | 06 | intermezzo |

Jung Jaehyun was not always seen as a confident guy. He can only be cocky when he was with his circle of friends, which you were clearly not excluded. Yet. This was the perfect time for Jungkook and Sia to prove their loyalty to their dear friend in need. To boost the best friend's confidence, Jungkook and Sia were actively brainstorming to find the most effective way in the most natural state possible to be integrated in Jaehyun's effort to get closer to you. This had been mainly his strategy as well—after intensely consulting with Minhyuk and Naeun and basically following their advice; start from being friends. More like, very close friends. Jaehyun knew he couldn't do it alone. That was why he kind of begged Jungkook to help him, which he and Sia gladly agreed to do so. And actually this couple had more ideas way than Jaehyun did.

Today was an example, which Jungkook successfully dragged you out to accompany him having brunch with a lame excuse saying Sia had some errands to run and would join later. Sia never came. Instead, there were Jaehyun and some dudes called Yugyeom and Mingyu joining them.

"Dude, you don't need me anymore. You have your dudes here," you snapped at Jungkook, not really care about your image anymore.

"My dudes are your dudes too, you know?" He innocently grinned, looking at you and your squinting eyes.

Jaehyun smiled at you and Jungkook bickering non-stop, practically ignoring the other 3 guys. He liked this side of you. It felt more natural, genuine, and strangely it exuded a warm personality. There was definitely summer inside covered by a windy, cold winter.

"Jaehyun, I'm craving fried chicken in your neighborhood. Let's go to your house and have it delivered there. Haechan is not home yet, right?" Mingyu suggested.

You became more alert when the guys started planning something else. This should be your chance to escape and go back to your house, having your sleeping beauty moment.

"Ah, right. I left my jacket too," Jungkook added. "Yeoreum, come with us."

Your eyebrows curled as you couldn't comprehend your bestfriend's mind. "I think it should be 'Yeoreum, do you want to come with us?'"

"You will say no." He knew you better, indeed. "But I'll still take you with me though."

You blinked in confusion.

"Please, do come with us," the house owner spoke up, making you turn to face him. The dimples were on full display. His eyes were actually quivering when you made eye contact. So he kind of looked everywhere. Att you, at his friends. "We're just gonna chill a bit. I promise we'll be quiet. The chicken tastes great, you know? You won't regret it."

Did he just lure me with a freaking fried chicken?

"Yeoreum, come on. We don't take no as an answer." Jungkook stood up as his hand gripped your upper arm, dragging you again for the second time on that day.

Now there you were, sitting on the passenger seat in Jungkook's car with the other 3 giant guys, feeling lost and confused. The trip to Jaehyun's house was mostly filled with this Mingyu guy talking non-stop, while the others responded to him with relatively short answers. At least he was not loud. But still, how can one talks so much? Sometimes you were reminded of Johnny, who you finally could tolerate after weeks of him trying to get close to you. You smiled a little reminiscing those old days.

"What's funny?" asked Jungkook suddenly. He must have caught you smiling like an idiot. "Don't tell me you find Mingyu hilarious."

"What? No. Nothing." You cleared your throat.

Jungkook had to drag you again to enter Jaehyun's house. He sat you on the sofa, turned the TV on for you, and even provided you a pillow to hold. Meanwhile, the guys were all over the fridge checking out what was available. When you thought they will join you in the living room, the plot twist that Jungkook never planned just happened. This was when Yugyeom decided to pass because he got an important call, and Mingyu who was the one suggesting to go to Jaehyun's house had to leave early just when they arrived at the house, leaving the three of you. You didn't even say a proper good bye to Yugyeom and Mingyu.

Jaehyun and Jungkook silently exchanged looks. 'You got this!' Jungkook mouthed to his dude when you were not looking.

You were sitting awkwardly alone on the sofa, trying to not fidget too much.  It was the second time you visited his house. The first time was when Jungkook and Sia, as usual, kidnapped you for a late night movie with Jaehyun too and the other dudes, and ended up in Jaehyun's house, playing games all night long.

"Yeoreum, I'm sorry I have to go. Sia just called."

You abruptly got up. "I'll go with you. You can drop me off at the bus shelter."

"Why don't you stay longer and accompany Jaehyun? He will take you home."

"What? No, I..."

"That would be nice." Jaehyun quickly responded as he locked his eyes on you. "To have a company. I mean until my roommate comes back home," he continued as his sheepish smile appeared.

Jungkook firmly nodded at his same age friend. He pat you on the shoulder before really leaving. You couldn't believe your friend who left you in a man's house all by yourself.

"Just think of this house like the cafe you usually go to on weekends. Unfortunately I don't have tea or cake in this house, except coffee." Jaehyun began to break the silence. At this rate, he was so going to talk about whatever comes to mind. "Chilling at home is still the best, right? I mean, for a homebody like you. Well, it's not your house though. But still, a house instead of cafe, or restaurant, or even shopping center."

"You know, if you never mentioned that you're friends with Jungkook in our first meeting, I wouldn't trust you this much."

He chuckled. You've got a point though.

"I thought you can't stand staying at home and would prefer going out, shopping and everything."

Jaehyun chuckled again as he invited you to sit on the high chairs in the pantry instead of the sofa in the living room. "Yes, you're right actually. But since you're here, I'm good, I guess." He wished his reddening ears were not too obvious. "Let's see what we've got here beside coffee and cola," he sang as he opened the fridge and started scanning the whole compartment. "Lucky you, I've got milk and ice cream."

You were frustrated looking at Jaehyun being lost in the kitchen, trying to find anything else that goes well with milk and ice cream. He was running out of snack yet didn't want to bother going out to the convenience store. Eventually you just had to push him away. After asking for permission, then it was your turn to scan the fridge. Luckily, you found some strawberries and decided to make the hot trend of strawberry milk.

"I saw that in Youtube," he commented with his eyes fixed on the pouring milk onto the glass filled with your homemade strawberry jam.

Before you could respond, a loud, high-pitched voice was heard from the front door, making Jaehyun flinched from his seat. "Jaehyun hyung, I'm home," the younger guy sang, calling 'hyung' non-stop until he found Jaehyun and you in the kitchen. His doe eyes instantly filled with sparks and curiosity, along with his mischievous smile.

"Oh, Haechan, welcome home," Jaehyun greeted him.

"Who is this pretty Noona?" he asked with his cheerful tone, stomping approaching you.

Blushing, you laughed at the way he said pretty noona.

"Haechan, Yeoreum." Jaehyun's hands gestured pointing at you and the pudu-like boy back and forth. "Yeoreum, this cutie is my roommate, Haechan."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You were already being affectionate knowing that he was younger and ready to be babied.

"Wow, our names match very well, Noona. Full sun and summer. How's that?"

You chuckled at how vocal he was. Your eyes can't stop following whatever he did, particularly when he stood in front of the opened fridge, like he was pausing himself to find something he could eat right away. You just had to offer the freshly made strawberry milk, which he joyfully accepted.

"Hyung, can I have a friend come over?"

"Sure." He turned at you. "That's okay with you?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"Is he the one from the dance academy?"

"Yes. Oh he's already here."

Soon, Haechan's voice was met by a contrast of a deeper yet firm and fruity voice. You could hear Haechan's friend nagging him over a group chat matter. Both you and Jaehyun smiled listening to their conversation simply because you found them adorable. Their voices got closer to the pantry, so you started preparing another glass of strawberry milk you made for Haechan's friend. Beside you, Jaehyun was being helpful as he cleaned up everything yet still kept you company and talked to you.

"If you're uncomfortable, I can take you home now." He looked concerned. It was supposed to be a chill, quiet, and perhaps a bit romantic home date just the two of you. Earlier that day, he should have ensured that Haechan didn't go home this early.

"It's okay. I think he's nice. His friend should be nice too." You smiled, reassuring him.

"Meet my roommate." You heard Haechan coming. But the one who he was with was definitely a surprise.

"Summer noona, why... what are you doing here?" His face was as shocked as you were.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Haechan asked.

"Sort of.." Mark answered in hesitation, his eyes were still on you.

"Interesting. What kind of mutual relationship do we have here?" Haechan sang innocently. Meanwhile Mark kept glancing at you and Jaehyun, and the little interaction you kept having with him. Jaehyun had been more quiet as it just came to his mind that Mark was one of Johnny's close friends. Of course you would know Mark.

"Jaehyun hyung, remember me? I'm a friend of Johnny, your partner for that night radio program 2 years ago," Mark initiated speaking.

The dimply man showed off his dimples again. He had to control his perfect smile to disguise his sudden insecurity. "Of course."

"How do you know guys know each other?" Mark asked, cautiously looking at you. He tried to read your expression but he failed. He can't tell anything from the signature poker face you were wearing, along with that practiced smiley expression.

"I'm a friend of her bestfriend," Jaehyun answered for you. He noticed you being silent suddenly as Johnny's name was mentioned.

"So now you guys are... friends?" Haechan spoke very brightly. "Or, is it more than friends?" he teased Jaehyun.

"It can't be decided yet," Jaehyun managed to throw a joke to melt the intense microexpression of yours. He also glimpsed at Mark who was staring at you, waiting for your response. "Despite the things we share in common, we still disagree about many things. For example, she's against gopchang which I like the most. How can I be friends with someone who doesn't understand the delicacy of this country?"

"It is disgusting to eat blood," you defended yourself. Jaehyun was finally relieved to have the usual you back.

While you and Jaehyun argued over little teeny tiny things, it was an unfamiliar sight to see for Mark. It was his first time to see you very lively and being vocal to speak your mind even if it was only simple stuff like milk-based drink was better than coffee. Beside him, Haechan kept throwing questions that kept rising a heated yet fun discussion between you and Jaehyun. This time about 16 personalities which you got ISTP and Jaehyun got ESTP. Mark had been silently observing how you and Jaehyun agreed and disagreed about one stuff and another. This Jaehyun guy seemed... compatible for you, he thought. It was interesting for him to see this side of you. To see a new side that probably would never emerge to the surface if you were still with Johnny. Basically you would let Johnny decide everything, making him dominant yet in the sweetest way possible in your relationship. When you were the girlfriend of Johnny Seo, Mark saw you as a calm and graceful, quite reserved, but you still knew how to have fun.

"It's great to see you today, Noona," Mark said before departing. He glimpsed at Jaehyun who was busy washing the dish in the kitchen. "Anyway, I know it's none of my business. But... does Johnny know?"

"About?"

"You and Jaehyun hyung."

You let out a chuckle. "What's with me and Jaehyun?"

"You guys definitely have something."

"Really?” You smiled, pretending to be oblivious. “Well, I believe this is something that I'm not obliged to tell him. Or maybe Mark could tell him for me?"

He quickly shook his head. "I'll let you guys figure things out."

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​ @jamies-kpop-reactions​

Chapter 15: Our Story

The mere seconds that Mom spent staring at me and Taemin, slackjawed in the doorway, might as well have lasted forever.

I think we wouldn't have looked half as guilty if we hadn't flinched lightyears apart from each other at her gasp, but it was our instinct to run and hide. As it turns out, we didn't melt or fade in the light of discovery, but we certainly did burn.

"Oops!" Mom almost giggled as she tiptoed back into the hallway and closed the door with a soft click. Like she had done something wrong, she apologized. "I'm sorry! Lei, I just came to tell you that dinner is ready. Come down whenever you get hungry!"

Before I could speak even in a timid squeak of a voice, I heard Mom's footsteps retreat down the stairs. Because tense silence had fallen over my room, I heard Donghae ask, "Where's Lei? Is she okay?"

And I heard Heechul say, "She's not curled up in bed with her radio crying her eyes out to SHINee again, is she? I thought we were past that phase!"

I went red in the face because I had certainly grown a bit past that phase, but only because I had Taemin— the real-life person— to curl up with. Thinking only that Taemin was a million times more comforting than any CD had ever been-- and that's really saying something since you know well that music was my best friend before Lucas— I glanced at him.

From the foot of the bed where he had tucked himself into a humiliated ball, Taemin sprang to his feet and started pacing around in the dark.

"Oh my God," he wheezed, nearly tripping over his shoes. "She caught us. Your mother— my manager— caught me in your room. She caught us kissing. She caught us kissing in your room. She caught me kissing you on your bed in your room. She caught me whispering into your mouth that I love you on your bed in the dark in your room."

I had been flustered before Taemin became a human embodiment of anxiety. A fact about me: I strive for balance in almost every situation. If somebody (take Lucas for example) is bouncing off the walls, I will sit perfectly still. If somebody is frowning, I am trying to make them smile, even if it's the briefest, dimmest sort of smile. If somebody (like Taemin was that night) is in a panic, I am level-headed.

So when Taemin tugged at his hair, whining, "She's going to kill me. And if she doesn't kill me, she'll make me break up with you, and then that's gonna kill me. Shit, shit, shit."

"She is not going to kill you," I said confidently because I knew Mom like the back of my hand. Granted, I didn't know every detail of her life before me, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn't angry. Mom never apologizes when she isn't sorry. She never apologizes when she's mad.

I was kind of joking when I said, "If she wanted to kill you, she would have sent Heechul and Donghae flying up the stairs, and—”

"Shit!" Taemin hissed. Profanities didn't suit him. "Super Junior is going to kill me!"

Slightly wavering in confidence, I assured him, "No, they're not. Mom isn't going to say anything to Super Junior."

Besides, I rationalized to myself, Yesung, who would have posed the biggest threat to Taemin's life, already knew that we were together. If Yesung didn't kill Taemin at the Christmas party, I figured that we were in the clear.

If Taemin hadn't been pacing so quickly, I might have tried to catch him in my arms to kiss his worries away as he had done for me. Given that kissing had led to this tension, though, he might not have appreciated the affection. Maybe it's a good thing that I didn't try to kiss him.

Taemin collapsed onto the edge of the bed and buried his face into his hands. When moments passed in silence, I took the chance to say, "She won't make us break up either, Taem. She just-- she was probably just shocked because she didn't know you were here. On top of that, she has always thought that Lucas and I are a thing, so—”

Into his palms, Taemin groaned, "She probably thinks you're cheating on Lucas with me or something! That makes everything a billion times worse!"

"It's more likely that she just realized that Lucas and I were never together. I mean, I've told her often enough that the message was bound to sink in sooner or later." After pulling Taemin's hands away from his face, I laced our fingers together. I gave both hands a gentle squeeze. "I get that this isn't how we wanted Mom to find out about us, but she had to find out somehow."

To tell you the truth, I was relieved that she found out in this private aspect of life and not through a tabloid expose.

"I know that you wanted to keep this-- us-- a secret so we could be roommates on tour, but we couldn't hide in the dark forever."

And to tell you the truth, I didn't want to. I wasn't eager to pen some press release or anything, but I think I was outgrowing that compulsion, that dependence on secrecy and shadows; they didn't comfort me anymore.

From everything that happened over those past few months, I learned that secrets are damning. At least in my own home, I wanted to live openly and honestly. Maybe Mom's unexpected discovery made that possible.

Stunned by my lack of humiliation, slackjawed because, for the first time, Taemin was embarrassed while I was not, I realized out loud, "I think— I think I'm glad that she found out." Drawing a deep breath, the kind that makes you realize that you've been holding your breath for far too long, I admitted, "I think— I think I've wanted her to know for a long time. Maybe forever."

Silence ensued as Taemin breathed heavily. Deeply. Inhale, count to ten. Exhale, count to ten.

My mouth opened, probably to explain that I nearly told Mom all about us on the drive to Grandma's house on my debut anniversary, but Taemin's stare took my voice away. He blinked at me. The spark in his eyes made me think that he wanted to smile at me. In hindsight, I guess he didn't. Taemin always smiled whenever he wanted to smile, and he didn't offer me the smallest grin for the rest of the night.

"I have to go," he breathed before stepping into his shoes.

That deep breath I had just drawn passed through my lips all at once. I said the wrong thing. There is nothing worse than when the truth— the full and absolute truth that rings in the deepest part of your heart— is the wrong thing to say. How can anyone regret telling the truth? How can anybody want to snatch the truth out of the air once it has been released?

"O-okay."

My stutter did not pass unnoticed despite my efforts to hide it with a smile. Taemin sat back by my side, took my face into his warm hands, and pecked at my lips. The kiss was over before I even realized it was happening.

"I love you, baby," Taemin promised. I swooned less at the affirmation of what I already knew and more at the variation of his name for me. He tucked some hair behind my ear. "Go down to dinner, and I'll talk to you later."

Rising to my feet in time with him, I said, "I love you too. Forever, Taemin."

Because I didn't want to watch him scramble out of the window, because I was at great risk of begging him to stay for dinner with Mom and Donghae and Heechul and Lucas— my family— to once and for all drag our remaining secrets into the light, I walked away. From the vanity, I grabbed the old photograph that I had yet to return to Donghae. I don't think I closed the door behind me on my way out of the room.

I tiptoed down the stairs, quietly hoping that Taemin would follow. Or maybe I was hoping that I would return from dinner to find him waiting on my bed with open arms. In the end, I was disappointed, but I didn't feel like a fool for daring to hope.

. . .

It turned out that Lucas's description of the rivalry between Donghae and Heechul was not all that dramatized.

Sandwiched between the two men at the dining room table, Mom looked nothing like the fairytale queen I imagined she would become in her happy ending. The squabbling must have gotten under her skin, etched those lines into her forehead, weighed down on the corners of her lips, and sharpened the glare she hurled at Heechul for a (probably offensive) comment that I hadn't heard over my thoughts as I reached the foot of the stairs.

"Lei!" Lucas cheered, pumping two fists into the air, because he was no longer alone with the adults. "Where've ya been?"

I couldn't narrow or roll my eyes at Lucas. He had no way to know that I had been kissing Taemin all day. He didn't have any clue that Mom just walked in on the most intimate moment of my life.

Blushing slightly under everybody's stare— smiling only because Moms smiled first and reminded me that everything was okay— I hummed, "I was just counting the stars."

As I sat in the seat next to Lucas and across from Donghae, I sat the picture frame onto the table. I met Donghae's gentle gaze and nodded. "I believe this belongs to you."

"I believe it does!" Donghae beamed and took the photograph into his hands. "Is this a new frame?" He asked as his thumb traced along the infinity symbol.

"Yep!" I omitted the fact that I had broken the original frame on that night I peeled his poster off the wall. "I— I hope you like it." I would have bashfully dropped my gaze onto the table if Donghae were the kind of person anyone could look away from. He looks right through the soul, you know, and I was finally comfortable with that.

While he untied one of the white threads around his wrist, Donghae swore, "I love it, Lei!" He motioned for me to hold out my wrist.

I watched, smiling, as Donghae knotted the infinity bracelet for me. All I could think about was my ribbon around Taemin's wrist. All I could think was that Donghae's thread bracelet was a ribbon too. We were tied together. Soulmates. Forever.

Then, my eyes were drawn to his red thread ribbon. Mom wore-- wears— one identical to that. They were tied together too. Soulmates. Forever.

So don't fault me for disagreeing with Taemin's belief that everything was falling apart with Mom's discovery of our kiss. It was clear for anybody to see (if they knew where to look) that happiness wasn't contingent upon the idea that everything will be okay. Everything was okay. Everything is okay. Happiness had arrived.

Except it wasn't happiness. The warmth spreading through my chest and painting life-- which had gone from dull shades of gray to pale hues with Lucas to sporadic brilliant bursts of color in the night with Taemin— was named joy. I read once that joy is forever, and I believed it then, and I believe it still. So, for the first time in a long time, as I looked at Donghae and Donghae looked back at me, I was not afraid for the sun to rise. I was not anxious because the sun had risen.

"It's not fair!" Heechul shrieked, pounding his fists on the table. "I practically live here, and the girl still favors Donghae!" Staring at me so intently that I thought his eyes might pop out of his head, Heechul demanded, "How come we never exchange gifts at the table, huh? I've been crashing on that couch for however many years, and you've never given me so much as a high-five!"

I raised my hands in total sincere surrender. "Look, I'm not picking favorites. I love you both. And if you start getting annoying and demanding me to pick favorites-- well-- let's not get into this again."

Donghae pouted into his glass of water. "You mean Yesung is still your favorite?"

And Heechul groaned at the ceiling, "Why am I not surprised?"

And Lucas chirped, "You gotta love Lei's unfailing loyalty!"

As I started forking through my dinner-- a salad because a.) my mouth was entirely too sensitive to the spicy noodles everyone else could slurp without watering in the eyes, and b.) I was trying yet another diet-- Mom caught my eye. She was watching me, smiling knowingly, determined to see me blush.

Uninterested in attracting any of the boys' attention, I subtly raised my eyebrows, trusting that Mom wouldn't say anything to expose my intimate information.

"You're not busy tomorrow are you?" I swear, she winked at me and I almost choked. "I was hoping that you could meet with me tomorrow. Nothing too serious, just a quick check-in on that project you've been working on."

Obviously, there was no project. Mom was just trying to tease me a bit and ensure that I made time to tell her about the events that led to the kiss that took our breath away.

Donghae and Heechul didn't know any of that, though, and they started pestering me about the project— "Is it a new song?" Heechul asked, and Donghae guessed, "Is the agency letting you write a ballad?"— while Lucas watched me through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Would you two hush?" Mom hissed at Donghae and Heechul. "Just let Lei keep her secrets for now!"

Mom and I laughed together and the others looked at us like we were crazy. That's okay, though. I didn't mind their stares. I was too happy that Mom saw me; I was too happy that there would be no more secrets between us come tomorrow morning. If I had it my way, I decided, there would never be another secret between us for the rest of our lives.

"I always have time for you," I told her through a grin. "Just name the hour, and I'll drop everything for you."

I had until 9 o'clock in the morning to decide what I wanted to tell Mom. Once I walked into my bedroom, I flipped on the overhead light, nabbed an empty moleskine notebook from the bookshelf, and sat at the desk I hadn't used since the long past poetry-writing days. Having grown significantly since then, I had to pull that little lever that lowers the rolling office chair.

Several of the pens that I dug out of the top drawer had gone dry, but I finally found one-- a dark almost-black blue-- that worked. I used it to map out the constellations, everything that happened before the kiss. Debuting with SuperM, giving Taemin my ribbon, the first game of Truth or Dare, crying that night in the garden, falling asleep with Taemin every night in America, the NCT Dream VLive incident, the Great Come Apart in Grandma's dining room, the roller coaster that was the Christmas party, visiting the wishing fountain where Baekhyun gave me a flower crown, kissing Taemin throughout New Year's Night and into New Year's Day.

I poured all of myself into that story, this story. On these pages, you can find me: my fears, my dreams, my hopes. I hope you love me as much as I love you. I know you do, Mom. I know you do.

By the time I lay me down to sleep, it is 4 O'Clock in the morning. Now, I wait for the sun to rise so I can share everything.

[puckngrind]

Roommates: Chapter 2

Warning: Poly-ish relationship, swearing, smut

Chapter 1

You were thankful for an off night when you got home.  Landing on the couch for the night you plopped yourself between both guys.  Ryan rubbing your tired feet and Josh’s fingers mindlessly played with your hair as the three of you watched a movie you’ve all seen so many times that the boys quote it. It’s exactly how you loved finishing a rough week.

“Where are you boys going for break?” You moved your head to look down at Ryan then up at Josh.

“Miami.” Ryan shrugs his shoulders and presses his thumb hard into the ball of the foot he had in hand.

“Nowhere.” Josh mumbles. 

In unison, “what?”  Ryan stops rubbing your feet as both of you look at Josh.

“I’m gonna go home for the weekend but want to work on some things so I’m not going anywhere.”  He stares deep into your eyes and the only thing that breaks your concentration is Ryan’s voice.

“Andy, you could come with us if you want.  We aren’t leaving until that Sunday.”  Ryan’s hands started creeping up to your ankle.

“Nah, I’m good.”  Josh leans forward a bit and returns his attention to the movie.  You and Ryan look at each other.  He shrugs his shoulders again at you then returns his attention to the movie and your feet.

Sure enough Josh left for Toronto as soon as the game was over before All Star break.  He breathed in your hair, kissed the top of your head, told you he’d see you soon while rushing to jump on the red eye home.

“Ready?”  Ryan easy smile greets you as you say bye to the few teammates left in the room.  Leading you to the car you can see his smile hasn’t wiped off his face.

“You good Ry?”  You run your hands into his damp hair.

“Of course.”  He starts humming to the song on the radio.

“Have we ever been alone for three days?” You hadn’t moved your focus off of him while he drove. 

“I don’t think so.  Should be fun.”  You see the glimmer in his eye.  “Did Josh say bye?”  Ryan pulls into his parking spot and sees Josh’s SUV in its spot.

“Yup.  Cam took him to the airport.”  You almost shouted while slipping out of the car and Ryan met you before you even shut the door.  Pulling your face to his and kissing you so hard while inching towards you until your body was pinned between him and the side of his car. His knee slipped between your legs. “Ry.” You breathed out when he moved his lips from yours and started sucking on your neck. “Ryan.” Your voice became firm because you aware enough to realize he wasn’t stopping even in the parking garage. “Babe.” You pushed a little but your body reacted to his movements.

“Yes sweetheart.” The same glimmering eyes from before caught yours and a smile that said more than his words did spread across his face.

“Can we take this into our place? Out of the public eye...please?” You looked side to side seeing if anyone else was around.

“Sure thing.” He pulls his body up right and adjusts his belt. Grabbing your hand you make it up to your place. Ryan almost slams the door and pins you against it. His teeth scrap across your jaw and you moan.

“Not saying I don’t love it but what has gotten into you babe?” You whisper as your hands rest over his abs.

“Nothing.” Ryan’s knee slides in between your legs making you moan again.

“Well you are a little more...” he hikes your leg up and you feel him pressed against you making you forget what you were saying.

“I need you.” Ryan nibbles at your ear and in one swift motion pulls you to the couch his body weight on you before you could even blink.

“Fuck you are gorgeous.” Ryan pulls up slightly to take you in. Generic home sweater and leggings. Not exactly screaming sexy but his steel blue eyes are locked on yours. You feel your breath catch in your throat from the intensity of how Ryan is looking. His fingers graze your face and dance along the top of your sweater. He lifts up to his knees and dances his fingers down your body and under your leggings. Slowly wiggling to help him glide them off. Ryan pulls off his shirt and stands slightly to remove his pants. You go to take off the sweater and his hand finds your. “Leave it for now.” His voice low and quiet. He pulls your body up and into his lap. Your core meeting his hard cock making a moan slip out. His hands firmly on your hips to keep you in place and his lips sucking exactly at the spot that makes me melt.

“Ry.” You moan out as his hands slip under the sweater and unhook you’re bra. “Please fuck me.” You didn’t mean for it to come across as demanding and it sounded but since leaving the arena the fore play was enough to send you over the edge.

He grunts in response and tosses you back onto the couch. You pull off the sweater and he pulls your panties off with his teeth which sends shivers through your body. Kisses then licks up your folds making your hips fly off of the couch. You feel him laugh as his nose presses into your clit. “Ready for me eh?” He kisses your thighs and looks up to you with so much desire and love in his face.

“Get up here please.” You breathe out and grab towards him. He glides up your body as you wrap your legs around him. Thrusting hard into you makes your head hit the end of the couch and you both laugh.

“Sorry.” He mumbles and leans down to kiss you.

“Felt good Ry.” You pull his body towards you. “Do it again.” With that Ryan thrusts hard into you your arms fly up to brace yourself.

“That’s hot.” Ryan panted and keeps up his rhythm. Moans and praises escape from his lips between kissing you deeply. You feel your orgasm building as he speeds up. “I’m close too.” He whispers which sends it crashing over your body. You feel Ryan release deep inside of you as he rides out your high. Crashing his body into you kissing your neck sweetly.

You laid in silence with Ryan peppers you with kisses. “I’m going to miss you this week.” He breaks the silence.

“Ry, I’m going to miss you but it’s just a few days. You leave for longer in the summer.” You rub your hand down his face which has twisted up and he sucks the air into his nose hard and you know he’s not saying something. “Ryan. What’s up babe?”

“I’m fine.” He sits up.

“You sure?” You slowly sit up and lean into his side.

“Yeah.” He kisses your forehead. “Let’s shower and head to bed, kay?”

You dropped the thick feelings you felt radiating off Ryan that night and enjoyed the weekend just the two of you. Strolling around North Market, dinner in the Short North, cuddles and more sex but much more how the two of you move together.

And just like that you watched him pack for Miami.  You joked about using enough sunscreen as he pulled you in and kissed you hard promising not to become a lobster before heading out the door.

Josh asked you to pick him up from the airport and you arrived early to greet him at the luggage terminal. In a last minute decision you scribbled a sign to hold for him. You see him easily over the crowd. Black hat bobbing over the sea of heads. As he approaches his eyes squint to read your sign:

Josh, Will you have Tim Hortons

for breakfast with me, eh?

His laugh is loud as he scoops you off your feet and kisses the top of your head.

“Missed ya (y/n).” He hasn’t put you down.

“Same Anderson. Now put me down and take me to get some of your homeland coffee.” You wiggle trying to get out of his grip.

“Cute. But I was thinking Forno.” His smirk says it all as he finally lowers you to the ground.

“You know I cannot say no to that!”

“I know. Mom says hello by the way. Asked if you were coming home this summer.” Josh starts walking towards the exit.

“I’ll text her. Wait, no bag?” You stop on your tracks and Josh grabs your hand.

“Nope, packed light and left some things at home.” Josh pulls you to his side and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “How was your weekend?”

“Good.” You knew Josh wouldn’t probe for anything more.

“That’s great. It’s starving! Let’s get out of here.”

Brunch was amazing and Josh made you laugh so hard you almost chocked on your water. Going home seemed to be exactly what he needed. He talked the week too and what he was working on and with what coach.

“Thanks for taking off today. I could have grabbed a Lyft back.” Josh looks deep into your eyes and for a moment you forget you are in a public place and reach out for his hand.

“I needed a day off anyway. Mental health day you know.” He interlocks his fingers with yours then you slink your hand back to take a sip of your coffee. “What do you want to say with the day?” You look back up to see his pools of blue haven’t stopped staring at you.

“Oh, I just want to hang out at home maybe we can take a walk down by the river before dinner. Nothing too exciting.” His eyebrows raise and his smile says he plans are staying in bed with you until dinner which is exactly what you wanted to do.

You enter your home as normal.  Taking off your shoes, putting your bag own then Josh drops his carry on hard on the floor and you jump.

“Babe, sorry.” His hands glide from your forehead to your collarbone. You smile up at him. “You seem tense. Let’s grab a shower to relax.” You shake your head and Josh leads you to his room’s bath.

Josh’s lips ghost your skin while the warm water sprays you both.  His hands caress your breasts and you moan.  “Fuck.”  Josh whispers as his lips attached to the back of your neck.  You feel him growing as his body inches closer to your back.

“What?  I didn’t do anything?”  You turn and look up at him.

“Yeah you did.  You moaned.”  Josh kisses your lips sweetly and you bite at his lip. “And there you go again.”  He groans.  “Let’s get out of the shower and in bed so I can properly fuck you.”  Josh steps out before you can protest that shower sex sounded perfectly amazing and wraps you up in a towel before drying himself off.

Toeing over to his bed you pat the rest of yourself dry. Josh presses into your back and flips you around.  He’s somehow almost completely dry except the curls on the back of his neck.  He pulls the towel off of your body and tosses it to his chair.  “Come here.”  He picks you up and places you on his bed.  Dropping to his knees Josh starts kissing up your leg.  Leaning on your elbows you suck in hard as Josh’s tongue finds your clit and then explores your folds.  You feel his fingers at your entrance.  One finger hooks inside causing your hand to fly up into Josh’s hair.  You feel his laugh radiate throughout your body as he slides another finger inside pumping in and out.  

“Joshhhh...” You feel your orgasm explode inside of you and before you come down it Josh stands up and slides himself right into you.  “but I was gonna...”  He trusts hard into you as his body curves over yours and his hand firmly holding your leg up to press further into you.

“Later.  Move back.”  He starts to crawl up into the bed pulling out just long enough to adjust and thrusts even harder into you.  Sweat already dripping from his abs.  You glides your hands down his abs then around to his back.  He pulls your leg up even further and your nails scrap down his back.  A slew of curses and grunts escape his lips as you feel him twitch inside of you.  He manages to pull your leg up further causing an intense orgasm to wash over you and you feel your legs shake in his grasp.

A few hours later you get out of bed and make your way down to the river.  Josh grabs your hand as you jabber on about work, life, plans.

“When do you think you will come to Burlington this summer?”  His question wasn’t out of the norm but the grip on your hand made you look up at him.

“I’m not sure yet.  I guess we need to start looking at summer huh?”  You smile and he smirks up at you. 

“Maybe we can do a weekend up at Muskoka.”  His grip tightens then his fingers dance between yours.

“Oh, that sounds fun.”  You stop and he turns into you leaning down kissing you gently.  “Josh.”  You whisper.

“What?”  He looks at you with that ‘I have no idea what you are talking about’ look and his dimples appear.

“I love your dimples.” You rub your thumb over his cheek and his already pink cheeks become red.

“Uh, thanks...how about we doordash so it’s at home by the time we get back huh?”  He was changing the subject and you did just that.  Dinner in bed wasn’t something you did a lot but loved just relaxing with Josh.

Your alarm wakes you up and you are startled by the amount of notifications you have.  You see Ryan’s text as Josh pulls you in still somewhat asleep.

Ryan: We will be fine.  Don’t get on instagram.

“What the fuck?”  You say louder than your usual morning volume.

“What babe?” Josh’s groggy voice is in your ear.

“Ryan says don’t check insta. Whhhyyy???”  Josh reaches for his phone while you just throw yours towards your feet.

“Oh! Shit...” Josh’s hand rubs his face and looks over at you.

“What? What? WHAT?” You go to get your phone again and Josh’s hand stops you.

“No, (y/n). Don’t.”

[boymeetsweevil]

(Welcome to) Camp Lonely Heart

Grouping: Camp Counselor!Reader x Camp Counselor!Taehyung

Word Count: ~15.6k lmao 

Warnings/Themes: walkie talkie sex + masturbation, graphic public sex in a field, descriptions throughout of breast play, 69ing, riding, fingering, creampie sorta, some bullying, some angst, concerned older brother Minho, OC is kinda flaky

Summary: It’s possible to find love in all sorts of places: In bars, in school, on apps. But what about through a walkie talkie?

Part of the Masterlist for Group 2 of the @btssmutclub Summer Project

A/N: sorry its late! tagging @classickei and @chimchurro

A noogie from his older brother is the first thing to welcome Taehyung when he arrives at the admin building for the first weekly counselor meeting. He sits through it patiently because he knows Minho means well and it’s better than those times where he just cups Taehyung’s face tenderly and says absolutely nothing. But this is why he insisted they arrive separately.

With Minho’s arm tossed over his shoulder, Taehyung makes his way into the familiar conference room. Despite the fact that this is his 3rd year as a junior counselor, the fact that the conference hasn’t changed since it was built in the 80’s still surprises him every time. The people inside it change fairly frequently, though. There’s always a steady rotation of counselors for both the boys’ and the girls’ camps on their respective sides of Lake Lonely Heart.

A smattering of people are already seated and chatting amongst themselves before the introductory meeting starts. As more people trickle in, Taehyung acknowledges them from his corner seat. Some veteran staff from the boys’ camp naturally come to his and Minho’s side of the table, greeting Minho mostly.

“How was your trip up, son,” asks one of the senior staff, Cref.

“It was good,” Minho gives a genuine smile up at Cref before giving a pointed look in Taehyung’s direction.

“Oh,” Cref’s eyes dim noticeably, “And how was your trip, Tae?”

“It was fine,” Taehyung’s answer matches Cref’s in its lack of warmth.

“I see you kept that little ponytail thing you had last summer.”

“Yeah.”

“Shame,” Cref huffs before turning to some of the other boys’ staff that arrived while he was talking and gesturing to Taehyung.

“Cref can you really talk when you’ve still got that comb-over?” The comment sends the other boys’ staff who’d been listening into a tizzy and Cref scoffs before turning on them to compensate. Meanwhile, Minho gives Taehyung a covert pat on the back.

None of the girls’ staff seemed to be watching the exchange with the exception of one girl who must be a new hire. Taehyung doesn’t recognize her face from last summer and though she’d been snoring softly when Taehyung first arrived, she looks at some of the jeering boys’ staff with a bit of muted disapproval. The look is brief because almost instantly another one of the counselors near her pulls her into another conversation. The sour tinge her features had disappears and leaves a gentle and open expression on her face as she listens to someone tell her about what to expect with her sleeper cabin.

There’s something nice about her face even though nothing specific jumps out at him as super beautiful or sexy. The soft way she smiles is subtle, almost like the turn of lips could have been a trick of the light. He wants to know what a full-blown smile would look like. Taehyung likes to think that he would have gotten up to talk to her. Eventually. If it weren’t for the camp leader entering the room with the dreaded Talking Stick.

“Alright everyone,” the camp leader shouts energetically, halting all conversations. “Veterans don’t spoil anything. Newbies, one of you raise your hand and tell me what you think this is,” she grins and wiggles the bedazzled stick in a wide circle.

Taehyung sighs and settles back further into his chair, ready to endure yet another round of icebreakers and name learning games.

“Here’s your humble abode for the next few months,” Moe grunts as she pushes the door of the cabin in. She smiles shakily before mumbling something about the paint job being so new that the door wouldn’t budge. A few hits to the door with her shoulder help it swing open.

The cabin looks nearly identical to that of Moe and Moe’s roommates. A pair of bunkbeds sit across the main room from one another. There’s some simple wooden furniture and a nice view of forest on the girls’ side of the lake in the front window by the door. The bathroom has two shower stalls and two sinks. The cabin is clearly made to hold four occupants.

“Are my roommates on their way?”

You walk in and admire the posters on the wall. They must have been left by some other counselor some number of summers ago.

“So, uh, you actually get this whole cabin to yourself.”

“Huh? Like I’ll be sleeping here by myself?”

“Yeah. I know its weird, but it’s not on purpose. The rooming system isn’t the most efficient. People fill the first cabin and then we fill the second one and on and on. When we got your answer, it was late and we’d perfectly filled 3 other cabins before this one. And since your position was the last one we filled before closing the apps, there weren’t any other people after you who could have been placed here.”

You try your hardest not to look too dismayed at your lonesome living situation. But, truthfully, one of the things that made you consider taking the position was the friends you were hoping to make on he job. The job testimonies on the Camp Lonely Hearts website mentioned that some of the best times of being a counselor were the times had in the cabin with coworkers after dark. With you being new to the city and this being the first summer in a long while where you weren’t forcing yourself into a boring 9-to-5, you wanted to take a chance on something inspiring instead. And you really wanted to make friends because city life alone was taking a toll on you. The chance to be a ‘youth leader for the young women and men of Camp Lonely Heart’ seemed like just the right thing.

Now, though, it looked like you would have to work a little harder to make the lasting connections you were expecting to fall into your lap the first night on the grounds.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Moe says when some of the bouncy pluck in your shoulders seems to leave you with the sigh you let out. “You’re welcome to bring a sleeping bag and sleepover in cabin 3 any time.”

“Thanks, Moe.” She leaves you to unpack with the slow setting sun.

Everything seems clean enough under your quick inspection. You take over the bathroom with your toiletries and towels. The bunk bed is less uncomfortable than you thought it would be, and there’s an outlet near your little writing desk, so you’re able to plug in and set up your boombox. There’s no wifi at the camp, and while it’s an experience you’re looking forward to, you can’t live in total silence. You did, however, bid all your friends a temporary goodbye on Facebook after explaining where you’d be for the summer.

You switch the boombox onto radio mode and extend the boosted antennae. It picks up a classics station that you unpack to. The job is over quickly given that you only had to pack a few undergarments and pairs of shorts to rotate with the t-shirts that they give to counselors so people don’t confuse some of you with campers.

When boredom starts clawing at the edges of your brain, you snoop through all the little corners and crannies you ignored when you first arrived and were busy with settling in. You don’t find much. You find a shoebox with a bunch of office supplies under the other bunk bed, a supremely large beetle carcass on your window sill, and a solar powered walkie talkie in the bottom drawer of the writing desk.

The walkie talkie obviously is the most intriguing find out of all of your finds, but you don’t see its mate in the cabin. Surprisingly enough, it powers up, but it has a low battery. You fiddle with the channels and mumble a wimpy little ‘anyone there’ into the first one. Figuring that no one is there, you lower it from your ear and move to go make your bed when the device sounds.

“Hello?”

The voice is deep and smooth. You’re so spooked by the response that the walkie talkie slips from your hand and clatters to the floor with a loud clunk. You let out a curse and bend down to pick it up only to find that the transmission was cut off from the impact. With the hopes that you can revive the device, you stick it in the bathroom window where you know it will get the most sun during the day and pray it's not broken.

Before you head to bed early, you go over your schedule and how you’re going to present yourself to the kids the next morning. It takes a while for you to memorize your schedule because your mind is slightly preoccupied,  wondering what the person on the other end must be thinking of your sudden departure.

You were worried that it would take a while to adjust to your position and that the kids would be intimidating, but quickly you realize there was nothing to worry about.

You love your girls more than you could have predicted. They took to you instantly since you were the youngest among the counselors. Even the 17-year-olds, who are the oldest campers there, flocked to you too during parts of the daily schedule that you weren’t leading. Many of the girls in high school would drag you to their table in the mess hall during dinner or the free period before lights out to ask you for school advice and questions about the more mysterious parts of life. It instills in you a strong sense of responsibility that you didn’t think was possible. You didn’t think you’d ever find teenagers endearing.

The camp itself is kind of like a hazy afternoon dream. The nature around you is beautiful and the air is crisp. If you take a 20 minute trek away from the main grounds, you stumble into the camp’s medium sized lavender field. It’s your favorite place to be at any time of the day because the air is thick with the scent of the purple flower. The first time you see it, you’re joining one of the other junior counselors, Jade, to grab some plants for craft time.

“You’re gonna trap flies like that,” Jade gestures to your slack mouth.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that we barely even get grass on the sidewalks at my new apartment. And this is...so beautiful.”

You can’t help it really. The sweet scent that had been coating your nose and throat since you were halfway up the trail just increased ten-fold and has stolen the place of your breath.

“Yeah, it has that effect on people. But you get used to it after working here long enough and the smell starts to fade. You might even get a little sick of it.”

You shake your head to clear it and try to fathom the idea of being sick of lavender. The rows of plants are lush, huge, and neat. You walk through the small plowed paths between each bush looking for the most fragrant patch you can find. There’s what looks like a few other counselors from the other side of the lake wandering through some nearby rows, looking for the same thing you are. You tap Jade’s shoulder when their backs are turned to you and whisper.

“They’re from the boys’ camp, right? Do you know those guys? ” Jade turns and squints into the distance before straightening up immediately.

“Oh my god, yeah, that’s Minho. He’s the yoga instructor for the boys.” Her tone takes on a wispy, dreamy quality. “He’s so nice and so cool. And, like, really funny.”

The man in question has on a shockingly bright Tiffany blue t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to beat the heat. And perhaps showcase his sculpted arms. He looks tall and broad from your vantage point, but he doesn’t seem extraordinary at first glance. Maybe he’s really great once you get to know him.

“What about the other one?” The slightly shorter man with the tiny ponytail and coke-bottle glasses catches your attention more. Even though he’s fairly far away, you can tell he has a nice profile. Jade squints again and hums in thought.

“Mm, I don’t know. I think he’s one of the newer guys. I don’t really remember his spiel from the intro meeting. Do you know him?”

“No,” you give him one last look before squatting down and getting to work. “Just curious.”

***

“—and then move this finger here,” Taehyung nudges one of the camper’s fingers until it’s sure to make the guitar in his hands sing that way he wants. “That’s the last part of the chord. So from there you can play that song we went over in musical hour. Did you take notes?”

“Yeah.” The kid in front of him is probably no more than 16, maybe a baby-faced 17. He looks too nervous for an impromptu guitar review during free time.

“Kook, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook hangs his head a little in embarrassment. “Just...what if I suck at guitar?”

“Then you suck at guitar,” Taehyung shrugs. “It’s okay to not be good at things. Especially if you’re just learning them for the first time.”

“I know, but I really need to be good at this. I have to be able to learn a song in less than a week by the time camp ends.”

“That can be kind of fast depending on the song. Why do you need to learn songs so quick?”

Jungkook’s round cheeks heat up and he eyes his peers who are playing jacks at one of the dinner tables. “There’s this girl...”

Taehyung hums knowingly and smiles down at the kid. “I see. Did you tell her you could play guitar?”

“How did you know?” Jungkook’s are wide as he eyes Taehyung like he read his mind.

“Just a guess.”

The camper nods. “I told her I’d learn her favorite song and play it for her when she gets back from vacationing with her parents. But I obviously don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, I can’t promise you that you’ll become a prodigy before the end of camp, but I’ll let you borrow my guitar every day as long as you promise to practice like you mean it every time.”

“If I do that, do you think I’ll at least be able to learn her song?”

“I’ll personally help you learn the song.” Jungkook’s shoulder relax instantly once he realizes he’s in good hands.

***

“Star, it’ll be fine. Really,” you try your hardest to get the tiny middle schooler to stop shaking without drawing attention to her as you bring her into the admin building. “Once your mom picks up, I’m sure she’ll understand and she’ll bring your hormones over.”

“I know,” Star’s frame shivers with the force of her hiccups, her eyes pink and watery. “But I can’t believe I forgot them at all. She didn’t even wanna let me go because she was worried I’d lose them.”

“But you didn’t lose them, sweetpea. You forgot them. Kinda different.” The little sobs, now intermittent at best, halt as she processes your logic.

You show Star to the telephone used for emergency contact or extreme cases of homesickness before stepping away to let her have some privacy with her mother. In the meantime, you let the borrowed keys of Moe’s truck swing from your fingers while you explore the halls of the admin building.

It feels odd roaming the various wings of the building when you’re not there for your Wednesday morning staff check-ins. The layout isn’t any different from those days, but you rarely get to see the other parts since you usually just make a beeline for the conference room.

The white painted cinder block walls and the linoleum tiles give you flashbacks to your own adolescent days in school. As does the un-ironic use of retro inspirational posters—though you suppose they weren’t retro when they were first put up. A few doors leading to utility closets or other, smaller conference rooms. While hunting for the staff lounge, you find a counselor you recognize from your side of the lake talking covertly with a counselor presumably from the boys’ side. Your roll your eyes when they give a disdainful stare for breaking their private moment and keep snooping.

At the end of the hall is the communal laundry room. The lines for it are usually awful on Wednesdays. You peer in just to see what it is you don’t have to deal with since you have your own unit in your little cabin. In that moment, you catch someone holding up boxers. You recognize them as that Minho guy that all the counselors seemed to have fallen for.

“Did you find any extra detergent, Tae?” He turns to you then and realizes you’re not who he thinks you are and you’re out of there as quickly as possible.

When you get back to the phone, Star is waiting patiently with no more tears and news that her mom will be dropping off her hormones and some homemade fudge.

***

Breakfast is served to the counselors at asscrack od dawn so that they can get the mess hall ready for the campers and complete the first things on the schedule for the day. Usually it's not so bad, but today’s early rise is hard for Taehyung because Minho brought some of the other counselors into their cabin the night before and they didn’t leave until late.

So when Taehyung stumbles into the mess hall looking for pancakes, he hasn’t given any thought to his morning appearance. He fixes his plate and sits across from his brother since the spot next to him is taken by Cref.

Taehyung’s wearing an old t-shirt that’s gone through many of his more experimental phases with clothes. The previously white t-shirt is now a soft apricot color after a night he was practicing with dyes a few years ago and the sleeves are thin in the places he took scissors to the shirt.

“Nice lingerie,” Cref sneers down his nose at Taehyung while he picks at his breakfast meat sleepily. “You know, I think I saw something at the mall a few weeks ago.”

A few of the guys sitting on the side laugh, some even dumbly repeat the joke under their breath as they chuckle into their breakfast.

“Fuck off, Cref.” Taehyung’s sigh comes out deeply tired. More tired than one could be from one night up too late from a noisy roommate’s friends. “It’s too early for this.”

“Yeah, Cref,” Minho pipes up, eyes locked on Taehyung’s sleep-puffy face and messy long hair. “We all know you don’t personally have the ass to pull off anything in a lingerie shop. And you definitely don’t have anyone’s ass to pull them off of either. You just sound sad, man.”

Cref stammers at Minho’s comment, not missing the subtle way the jab went a little deeper than it normally does when the two are just ripping on one another for fun. He admits defeat and sends a little nod in Taehyun’s direction. The same guys who were giggling earlier look on at Minho with some awe and are quick to jump on Cref for his non-existent ass as well.

When Minho kicks him under the table, Taehyung gives him a small thumbs up before taking his now half-eaten plate away to dump.

***

Dinners are normally spent at a table off to the side with the campers because they want to be able to treat you less like an authority figure and more like a wise older sister. But tonight you’re eating with the other counselors because you’re missing adult company. It’s been hard to have any of the bonding moments you were hoping for and there’s not much time during the day to have them when you’re trying to patch up skinned knees and guide macaroni projects.

Even though everyone is friendly enough and does try to make sure you feel included, you can’t help but notice how peripheral you are. After a few weeks, everyone has their designated dinner seat, so you were forced to pull up a chair to eat. Once the plates were cleared, you still felt a little left out. Apparently everyone makes a habit of staying up a little later than you so they can have time to unwind and talk about the day together in the other cabins. Apparently, people even share bunks occasionally so that they can visit non-roommate staff for the night.

You know you’re really not part of the group when the conversation becomes 80% inside jokes and you can’t recognize or understand a single one. The girl next to you attempts to explain the first few, but it slows the conversation down and you can tell that people are losing their patience when a story has to halt for you to catch up on nicknames or events. She stops explaining after the 4th one and you don’t really blame her. Maybe you should have spent dinners with them more. Or maybe you shouldn’t have gone to bed so early; even on the nights where you felt the exhaustion in your bones.

While everyone laughs about something someone said one night earlier in the summer, you construct a mental pros and cons list in your head. You could stick around and try to scrape through every single thing everyone says until you get all the jokes and can understand why random things like the brisket you’re eating is so funny. Or you can accept that you’ll probably have to forge these connections individually and not feel bad about getting well-deserved rest when you need it.

You opt for the latter and genuinely explain to everyone that while you had a nice time, you’re feeling a little fatigued. No one looks like they’ve caught on, but no one looks too upset to see you go either. The conversation continues to flow as you leave the dining hall, no need to fill the space you left because you didn’t really leave one. The walk from the mess hall to your cabin is short and brisk and you feel as though you’re not sure you made the right choice. You hope sleep will clear your head.

But before you get to the little fork in the foot trail that separates the other cabins from yours, you get struck with a current of rebellion. If you’re going to be lonely, you might as well make the solo time as fun as possible. So you sneak behind one of the cabins, searching for the cooler you know is wedged under the raised foundation. The first night there, someone showed you the booze that they brought in behind the camp leader’s back during the strict luggage inspection. If you recall correctly, you remember this girl saying that her boyfriend drives up during the weekly meetings and drops off new cases of beers for her to scoop up under the guise of a “bathroom break”.

When you open the cooler, there’s several 40s sitting in a bath of ice. It’s not your drink of choice, but beggars can’t be choosers. You take two for good measure and skip off to go drink on your porch with the radio blaring from inside the cabin.

***

“Tae, come on. You haven’t pulled your trunks out once since we got here.”

Minho whines fairly well for someone of his stature and it’s convincing enough with the pouty lips and the puppy eyes that Taehyung really does consider it. ‘It’ being swapping his pajamas for some board shorts and heading out to the lake for a night swim. Apparently the water will be refreshing in the thick and heavy heat in the night air. One of the other counselors had promised a smuggled beer, but Taehyung isn’t really interested in tempting fate.

“I don’t think I’m up for it,” Taehyung says while pushing Minho out the front door of their cabin. His biggest fans Jay and Dan are waiting outside and groan when Minho turns back again.

“You sure you don’t want to come? Maybe you’ll end up having fun. You never know.”

Jay whispers to Dan then. “I don’t know why he’s always so obsessed with bringing him around to stuff. It’s not like he adds anything to the mood, you know?”

It’s loud enough for Taehyung to hear, though he doesn’t think it was supposed to be heard. Minho instantly shoves Jay into Dan, who both go stumbling off the steps of the cabin porch. A moment later his eyes admit defeat and he pats Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Do you want company? I can stay in and you can, like, teach me the color wheel again.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’m gonna do some reading. I brought a few books that I’ve been wanting to crack open. And I’m kinda tired. Don’t worry about me.”

***

By the time you’ve finished half of your second bottle, you’ve migrated back into your cabin. Drunk-you is a little paranoid and worried that the camp leader will show up out of nowhere and see you intoxicated. Although, as you flop onto your bed, you’re not sure that’s such a bad thing. At least then you’d have company, you muse.

The bottle hangs from your lax fingers and you take a look at your surroundings. The screen door is facing out towards the lake and the view shows that the boys’ side of the camp is still awake with the lights from their own cabins shining like small beacons back at you. Then you look back and there’s the four walls of wood. You wonder briefly if its pine or oak before realizing you’re a little too drunk if you’re trying to distinguish between types of lumber. You do appreciate the wood’s warm tone and the natural striations that add some intrigue to the otherwise bland walls. If it weren’t for the abandoned Kiki’s Delivery Service poster on one wall facing your bed, you might think you were in a wooden version of solitary confinement.

Your head turns to rest more comfortably on your pillow and you gaze up at the little writing desk below the window that faces the woods behind the cabin. A little blurry shadow obscures some of the view of the forest and you sit up to see it better. It’s the little walkie talkie you discovered on the first day.

Drunkenness and boredom compel you to leave the softness of your mattress and stumble over to the window. The walkie talkie spent several weeks in the sun, so you figure it can’t be out of battery. You also figure it can’t have actually been destroyed from the meter it fell from your hand to the floor that one day. So you flip the power switch with blind hope and squeal excitedly when it turns on. Pressing the ‘talk’ button, you hop around the main room of the cabin and hum into the first channel. The song you’re singing is a broken version of a tune your grandfather used to always have floating in the air of his house from his record player. The melody sloshes together at certain points like the contents of the bottle you continue to take generous swigs from.

***

Taehyung’s reading in his bed, trying to tune out the sounds of distant splashing and shouting coming from his co-counselors by the lakeside. When he picks up the sound of sloppy singing, he wonders if Minho has come back to the cabin for a towel or to try to convince him to come back out again. But the door of the cabin doesn’t swing open. Taehyung is confused for about 5 more seconds before he’s eyeing the dark space under his bed suspiciously. There, underneath a sheet that fell down the crack between the mattress and the bed, is the walkie talkie that’s been collecting dust since the night before the camp session started.

He shifts an arm down behind the bed and disentangles the device from the sheets and dust bunnies. Sure enough, the broken lilting of the soft tune is coming from the walkie talkie. To say he’s surprised is an understatement. A few weeks prior, he’d turned on the walkie talkie by accident and a moment later someone’s voice sparked from the speaker. He was intrigued enough by the voice to leave the device on during the day, charging it often in case whoever was on the other side would want to tune in again.

Now, the fog of sleep rises to make room for this little mystery. He doesn’t try to speak just yet. Instead, he lets your voice continue your rendition of a few songs mashed into one from a famous jazz album. When your voice putters out because you forget where the rest of the tune’s trail leads, Taehyung smiles to himself.

“I really—hic—wish someone was there,” your whisper crackles through the speaker.

He worries a bit about scaring you off again, but the urge to speak outweighs the worry. He holds the device up to his mouth hesitantly. “Someone is.”

“Oh.” You don’t seem nearly as startled as you were last time he spoke up. “The void speaks.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not the void.”

“Well,” you hiccup more into the walkie talkie and the sound is funny and tiny. “I suppose you’re not if you say you’re not. But who’s to say the void isn’t just a consciousness trapped in a reality that won’t answer back.”

“Wow. Do you normally philosophize in the midnight hour while drinking?”

The sound of you taking a large swig from your 40 washes into his side. “How did you know I’ve been drinking?”

“Call it a hunch,” he grins up at the slats of the mattress above his own.

“Well, what are—what are you doing?”

“Me?” For some reason the question takes him by surprise. “I’m just reading.”

“Reading what?”

“N-nothing.” He stares down at the book he was reading. “It’s just an art book.”

“What kind of art?”

“Uh, Van Gogh,” he trails off, waiting for your reaction.”Van Gogh’s art.”

“Oh, that kid. Nice one.” You let out a burp, but otherwise sound completely serious.

Taehyung can’t help the laughter that takes over him. It’s not that your reaction was stupid, but it was so unexpected and nonchalantly ridiculous that his brain can only react with laughter. You grumble at him through the speaker, but don’t actually take offense. He laughs for so long that you’re silent on the other line when he finally calms down.

“Sorry,” he wipes at his eyes, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you like that. I just...I’ve never heard anyone do something like that.”

“‘s okay,” your shrug is practically audible.

“Hey, you’re not a camper from the girls’ side, are you?”

“Are you asking if I’m one of Camp Lonely Hearts’ young women?” Your voice takes on a strange lisp in attempt to sound hauty.

“Yes?”

“Well, sadly I’m not. I’m a counselor over there, though.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve talked with one of you guys this whole summer.”

Back in your cabin, you have the walkie talkie resting against your ear after having fallen back into bed. Your feet are at the wrong end of the mattress, but you don’t care because the sound of the deep voice on your little radio is soothing and pairs well with your beer exhaustion.

“Mmm, me too.”

Your breathing slows and evens out, lengthening in Taehyung’s ear. He lays the walkie talkie down then, realizing that you’re probably on the verge of falling asleep. From the sound of it, you probably fell asleep with the ‘talk’ button still activated. He switches his walkie talkie off after mumbling an awkward ‘goodnight’ and lays the device down on the ground near his bed. He falls asleep quickly that night.

*** After waking up slightly hungover but not hungover enough to be without memory of the night before, you panicked.

Whoever this mystery person was on the other end of the walkie talkie, you had babbled dark philosophical nonsense at them for a good five minutes before doing who knows what else. You were so embarrassed you could hardly swallow down the overlooked eggs they served you for breakfast that morning. Being on kitchen duty didn’t help the upset stomach. You felt nauseated by your dopey antics and the smells of the meat and eggs you were frying for the campers’ breakfast.

The only thing that settled your stomach was the resolute plan you made to apologize to the mystery person over your lunch break. You hoped to all that was good in the world that the other person wasn’t a camper that was so scarred by your actions that they already reported you to the camp leader. Although, something about their tone when they asked you if you were a camper the night before made you think they were a counselor like you. It was the nerves and the hint of disappointment that even drunk-you picked up on. Nerves and disappointment about what, though?

With all your musing, you’re spaced out during physical education period and get brained by a volleyball. It’s actually a blessing in disguise because it means you get sent home and don’t have to work the dinner shift. The walk back to your cabin is full of you patting the tender skin of the back of your head while you practice your explanation for why your dignity is still actually intact and why you’re not as weird as you may have seemed last night.

But when you get back to your cabin, you find that you’re more nervous of the idea that no one picks up than the idea that they do pick up to give you a piece of their mind. Still, you switch the device on because you want to explain yourself. The first channel crackles to life again and you press the ‘talk’ button.

***

“I’m telling you, if these kids would just put their phones down, their spinal alignment would be so much better. You ever looked at their little shoulders? They looks like fucking mole hills. Makes me wanna cry.”

Minho is trying as best he can to remain still despite how much the topic of young people’s posture riles him up. Taehyung appreciates the effort, though, as it makes Minho’s silhouette much easier to capture on his canvas. On nights when there isn’t much to do, Taehyung takes out his paints and sometimes gets his older brother to be his model. In exchange, Minho gets to rant to a whole person about the dangers of office chairs on the coccyx or whatever the sexy new topics are in his chiropractors' digest.

Tonight is one of those nights and Taehyung’s managed to fill the canvas with three different poses and has also learned why he shouldn’t ever cross his legs for extended periods of time or diss nursing shoes until he’s tried them. But before he can ask Minho to find another position to hold, the walkie talkie by the foot of his bed fires up; on from when he turned it on as soon as he got back into his cabin for the day.

“Hello? It’s me,” your voice calls tentatively out into the air.

“Ooooh, who’s that?” Minho’s eyes turn into little semi circles as he grins at Taehyung. The mocking coos are inaudible to you because Taehyung hasn’t pressed the ‘talk’ button and he’s glad for that too. He quickly flips Minho the bird before scooping up the little device and leaving to sit on the porch.

Time stretches thin as you wait for an answer. The seconds are long. Long enough that your face is hot with unnamed shame and you’re reaching to switch the device off when—

“Hey. Sorry about the delay.”

“Hey!” You pull back automatically before remembering you’re the one who initiated the call. No backing down now. “So, I’m—I’m sure you remember the other night.”

“I do,” he snickers and recalls the way you’d bumbled around verbally. “Are you back for a repeat performance?”

“Uh, no. I actually wanted to apologize for being so weird yesterday. I was kinda drunk and I didn’t think about the fact that I might be bothering someone by turning this thing on and talking into it.”

“You didn’t bother me.”

“I didn’t?” You were just about to venture into the next part of your prepared speech, but now that you don’t need to, you’re at a loss for words. “That’s...good to hear. Are you sure? I can be kind of a lot when I’m drunk.”

“I really didn’t mind. It was a nice change from—I mean, it was funny. And nice.”

“Nice? I can’t remember the last time someone said I was nice.” The laugh behind your voice is subtle, but it sweetens the tone of your already pleasant words until Taehyung is smiling again.

“Glad to be of service, then,” he shoves a hand in his pocket.

“You sound nice too,” you blurt out. The sound of your feet hitting the floor in a little dance of embarrassment are thankfully too soft to reach Taehyung’s ears. “I mean—”

“Thanks. So,” he clears his throat softly, “do you like jazz?”

From that night on, you and Taehyung begin talking with one another via walkie talkie. Every night, a few hours before sunset, one of you will send out a little message to the other. Nearly like clockwork. Nearly because there are some nights where the conversation gets put on the back burner. Those were unusual nights, though. On one of those nights, the older counselors wanted to host an ABBA karaoke night with some of the older campers in the dining commons and you couldn’t miss it because 1) the 17-year-olds really like you, and 2) you can completely body an ABBA song despite the fact that you were never an avid fan growing up. Another one of those nights Taehyung couldn’t make it because Minho dragged him out of the room to play flashlight tag in the woods. He didn’t even have time to change out of his paint-stained shirt, much less shoot you a quick warning about not being able to talk. Although you didn’t like being left hanging, when he explained why he was busy the following night, you completely understood. Because, really, how often does an adult flashlight tag opportunity come up?

Even still—on nights like those you both miss each other’s voices.

99% of the time, though, you both make time for talking with one another. When you both are in, you talk about anything and everything. From family and life outside the camp to joke competitions that have Minho snorting to himself from under the covers even though he’s supposed to be asleep. The number of movie and book recommendations you’ve swapped only to find out that the other person was a fan is almost too high to not make you wonder if you’re actually stuck in some cliché young adult summer novel.

These days Taehyung’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Usually he doodles what he thinks you could look like in his Moleskin while ignoring Minho’s weird soft looks or wiggly eyebrows. Sometimes he’s not up for sharing his cool new digital pal with his brother and he’ll migrate outside, to the back of the cabin, and endure the bugs so he can enjoy your voice in peace. The only downside is that Minho won’t let him live it down. The countless jokes about his new lady friend only get worse when Minho slips up one breakfast and lets all the other counselors know that Taehyung’s been avoiding the group to talk to you. The raucous applause was one thing, but Cref’s fake pride that Taehyung managed to capture female attention was enough to have him kicking Minho under the table for his indiscretion. But it wasn’t all that bad.

You’re fairly content with the way things are as well. You’ve managed to get your boombox radio to play a local ‘best of’ jazz station and it reminds you of your myste when you’re not talking with him. It's only until you catch yourself trying to recall Taehyung’s appearance that you realize what you’re missing. That is, you don’t know what he looks like and that makes you feel odd. In theory, people don’t need to know what their friends look like. Pen pals and mutuals on social media sites don’t always know what their internet friends look like and still manage to talk for years and feel a real sense of closeness. But you keep wondering. Is he tall, is he brunet, is he pretty?

The thought keeps plaguing you until one day the question just tumbles out of your mouth. It’s a Tuesday, and you’re getting ready for bed because you have to be up earlier on Wednesdays for the weekly meetings. Taehyung had just been telling you about a flip that the arts director did that morning off the pier. It was a grisly story of broken legs and nose bleeds and how Taehyung  became both the arts and music counselor until further notice. You’d been trying to listen diligently but you couldn’t help drifting off. You’re trying to picture Taehyung’s face solely off the timber of his voice when that same voice blares a little louder than normal in your ear.

“Yo, did you fall asleep on something?”

“How tall are you?”

“Uh,” is all you get back from him. And it’s honestly an appropriate response to such a blunt change of subject.

“Sorry, that was kinda rude of me. It’s just that I realized that you’re probably the closest person to me in this whole camp and we’re not even on the same side of the lake...I just realized I don’t even know your name. And I definitely wouldn’t be able to pick you out in a crowd.”

“That’s—that’s true,” he gnaws thoughtfully on his lip and Minho raises his surprised and bespectacled gaze from a physical rehabilitation manual. “I’m Taehyung.”

He’s not sure how he managed to spend weeks talking with you nearly every night only to never ask for your name. When he was alert and talking with you, he felt no gaps, he didn’t even think to ask. But, Taehyung thinks, maybe the thought came to him when he was on the fuzzy border of sleep and wakefulness. When he was most open and sometimes the yearning slipped out. He doesn’t say any of that to you, of course. He just listens to you reply with your own name and repeats it to you until you’re praising him for the way it sounds on his tongue. Minho makes fun of him and whispers your name in a squeaky voice that’s supposed to be Taehyung’s.

“I like your name,” you chirp. You’re so happy to have one more piece to the puzzle that is Taehyung that you almost forget your original question. “So, Taehyung, what do you look like.”

“I’m 5’10.5,” he starts. “And I have...blond hair. All my friends tell me I have a perfect face–”

“Is that so?”

“–and a great chest-to-waist ratio. I don’t wear makeup, b-but if I did my MAC shade would be NW30.” Minho narrows his eyes at Taehyung, but the younger man simply turns away.

“That’s nice?” You sound a bit baffled by the description as well, but you try to take it in stride and picture it.

The resulting image in your mind isn’t exactly what you expected, but you guess you can’t be surprised that he looked different from how you imagined when you didn’t even know his name. You rattle off your own appearance, though not quite so awkwardly. When you’re finished, you wonder what he imagines with the description you gave. What does he think, you wonder. Do I sound nice?

Taehyung, on the other hand, realizes instantly who you are. You’re the girl that was falling asleep during the first meeting. He remembers watching your head lolling back and forth during the icebreaker and trying to contain his laughter when the camp leader shouted loud enough to wake you. He remembers your boisterous laughter at the third weekly meeting when someone thought it would be funny to round up 5 squirrels and release them into the conference room to watch the mayhem unfold. If he’s being honest, he’s actually more excited with the connection he’s made now. He’s glad it’s you. It makes sense.

“Well, I guess this will make tomorrow’s meeting a little more fun, right?”

“Huh,” he snaps out of deep thought. “Why?”

“Because now we can talk to each other in person.” Your voice is brimming with excitement and it’s easy to hear even through the half mile of distance and the static-y connection. “I’ll be able to find you now.”

“Yeah,” his voice trails off guiltily but you don’t catch onto it because you’re busy smoothing out your sheets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Taehyung,” you bid him goodnight with extra giddy emphasis on his name now that you can actually use it. It’s cute and should probably bring a smile to his face, but as he turns off the device, he can only purse his lips in frustration.

The sounds of sheets rustling remind him of his brother’s presence and he lets out a sigh, waiting for the lecture that’s about to come.

“So,” Minho begins slowly, “How come the person you described was cousin Jin when she asked you what you looked like?”

“In my defense, I...”

“In your defense, what? I’m really curious about what your explanation is.”

“I didn’t want her to be disappointed. And no one’s ever been disappointed by Jin’s looks, so when I got nervous I just gave her his greatest hits.”

“I heard. The foundation thing was a little much.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Why do you think she would be disappointed?”

“I don’t know. I guess if for some reason the appearance stuff was important to her, I thought it made sense not to leave things to chance. In case that would mess things up.”

“But what if, to her, lying is even worse than having an ‘ugly’ friend,” Minho asks with air quotes included.

“Then...I fucked up big time.” Taehyung holds his head in his hands for a few minutes before eventually looking up helplessly. “But I didn’t do it to spite her or anything.”

“Did you really just do it because you thought she would be disappointed? She doesn’t sound that shallow to me, and I don’t know her like you do.”

“Yes and no,” he groans and tosses himself onto the mattress. “I mean, I wanted to seem good in her eyes. Someone she might...like?”

“Someone she might like? She does like you.”

“Someone she might,” Taehyung eyes Minho softly, “want to be with.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “So it’s like that.”

“It’s like that.”

“Then you know what you need to do.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell her tomorrow. During the meeting.”

***

Taehyung figures that the idea of preserving his friendship with you being so important will make confessing his lie to you super easy. But when he lumbers into the meeting room the following morning at 6:30, the nerves take over. He grows silent. He stays silent when you come in looking too chipper for a normal morning meeting. And when you spend the majority of the meeting studying the face of every counselor from the boys’ side of the camp, looking for the man described to you on the phone yesterday and not finding him. And when the meeting officially adjourned and you’re standing around hoping for some sort of explanation. Silent when he eventually slips out while Minho is in the bathroom and someone has started chatting you up.

He knows that eventually he’ll have to face you—figuratively speaking. The floor will probably have a trench plowed into it from where he paces the area in front of his bunk anxiously. Sundown is soon and normally you’d be tuning in at this time to see what his plans are for the night and talk about each other’s days. But as the minutes tick by, his walkie talkie stays quiet. Minho pins him with an expectant look before mumbling something about going to go hang out in someone else’s cabin. Maybe he thought Taehyung would benefit from the privacy, but the empty space on the other side of the room just makes him more aware of how the ball is in his—and only his—court. He picks up the walkie talkie and presses the ‘talk’ button.

“You there?” When he gets no response at first, he presses again. This time, he just calls your name pleadingly. Surprisingly, you pick up.

“Is this Taehyung?”

“What? Yes, who else—”

“Or maybe this is Mr. tiny waist dorito face SPF 30. Can’t tell who’s who these days.”

He ducks his head. The smile in his voice is self-deprecating. “It’s me. Taehyung.”

“What can I help you with this evening?” Your voice is sharper than it normally is, but subtly so. He almost wants you to just yell at him instead.

“I just wanted to say sorry.”

“For friend-catfishing me?”

“Yes. For lying and for not coming clean at the meeting when I first saw you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything at the meeting,” your voice wavers a bit, traitorous in the way it shakes. “I was looking for you.”

“I know. I really was gonna tell you. You can ask Minho. But I just got scared all of the sudden. Like as soon as you saw me, you’d regret the decision to ever talk with me.”

“Tae, I wouldn’t do that. I really...I care for you. Something like that doesn’t just go away because what you pictured in your head isn’t 100% reality.”

Your words are simple, but he feels comfort from them. The grip he had on the plastic of the walkie talkie loosens significantly and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I still haven’t been completely honest with you, yet.”

“What is it now. Do you even work here?”

“No, no,” he chuckles and the sound drives you to chew on your thumb. “When you asked me what I looked like that night, I described my cousin to you.”

“Yes, ok, we’ve established that you’re not really Mr. Dorito head. What else is there,Taehyung, you’re making me nervous.”

“Hear me out.” You huff but otherwise settle for tapping your foot rapidly to channel the nerves productively. “I told you that I did that because I thought you wouldn’t want to be friends with me. But that’s not the only reason.”

“Okay,” you trail off.

“I did it because I thought maybe if you thought I was handsome, it would make it easier for you to, uh, return the feelings I have for you. I...like you. In a like-like way.”

“I see.”

Now it’s your turn to stretch the pause out until Taehyung’s fisting tufts of his hair in his free hand. The walkie talkie is probably going to leave a red imprint on his face from how hard he’s pressing it to his cheek, but he doesn’t even register the discomfort.

“I really don’t like that you lied to me,” you begin. “But, since I really like-like you, you can be on probation.”

The sound of exaggerated gagging sounds from the entryway of the cabin where Minho has been eavesdropping for the last five minutes. Taehyung doesn’t even bother to chastise his older brother for getting into his business and instead lets laughter bubble passed his lips.

Not too much changed after the night you both confessed to one another. Supposedly that’s a sign that you had a good foundation for your romantic relationship. But there are little changes and they’re noticeable. Much to Minho’s chagrin.

Most notably to everyone involved, since that night, the tone of the walkie talkie conversations shifted. Now your voices have become a little more hushed and Taehyung absolutely refuses to pick up the device unless he’s alone, whining until Minho leaves the cabin or is truly asleep. If the talks go on late enough, midnight moonlight lays a forlorn, whispered feel over you both and things become a competition for who can be the mushiest. The air is made of breathy laughs that bleed into sighs and unironic use of ‘No, you hang up first’. It’s all so rosy and the happiness you feel starts to stain your cheeks and smile. The other counselors notice too. A few give you meaningful looks like they’ve caught on. Moe, especially, looks proud to see that the dour cloud that was hovering over you has dissipated some. Others don’t quite have it right. They ask you if you’ve been sneaking weed into the camp. You don’t give up your secret for either of them. Mainly because you could face disciplinary action, but also because you don’t want the next time there’s a meeting to be turned into a spectacle. It’s not lost on you that you still don’t know what Taehyung looks like. But you were being sincere when you said that you didn’t need that to care for him.

Still, the curiosity wears on the edges of your consciousness every now and then. You can’t quite ignore the idea that you guys are sort of dating—that you may have a boyfriend at the end of this summer—and you still can’t tell when you’re in a room with him. Despite this, you feel a visceral attraction to him growing from what was a gentle simmer to a boil the longer you exchange pillow talk with him. At the right moments of the night, your hands itch to feel the solid weight of him, of any part of him. To have something other than the intangible rasp of his voice when he spills his feelings to you over the walkie talkie.

***

The Sunday night before the last week of camp finds you, of course, on the walkie talkie. Unlike all the previous conversations, there’s a bittersweetness that you’re trying to swallow down. You’ll both be busy with preparations for the end of the summer festival where both sides of the camp meet—this year on the girls’ side of the lake—to celebrate a summer well spent. This means you won’t have the time or the energy to talk to one another before the big day. If it wasn’t for the fact that you still hadn’t met up properly, you wouldn’t be bemoaning the brief absence so much. But with the end of the camp session rapidly approaching, questions linger in the air. It’s not clear what happens to what you have with Taehyung once you’re not close enough to use walkie talkies to talk with one another every night. So you cherish every minute you get with the man, even if its just his voice.

“I wish we could just keep talking forever,” you whine half into your pillow, half into the balmy night air. You’re trying your best to combat the heat with your sheets kicked down to your ankles and your lightest sleep clothes on. The tone you use is one you might normally be a little ashamed of, but you’re feeling extra needy.

“I wish we could have worked on the same side of the lake,” Taehyung counters after a quick glance toward Minho’s bed. Still unmade and empty because the man in question went to go smoke on the dock. “This whole separating the camp for the kids’ sake is dumb sometimes.”

“Yeah. I wish I could’ve seen you teaching songs to the kids on the guitar.”

“I wish I could see your face while you listen to the songs I rec’d you.”

“And I wish I could see your paintings.” Taehyung turns back to see the canvas he’d filled yesterday with paint swatches, trying to remember the exact hue of your skin from the first meeting in which he knew you were you.

“I wish we could just see each other.”

“Me too.”

“And touch each other.”

Your mouth drops open wide. He’s been flirty in his own way, but never so outright.

“Oh my god, Taehyung, are you drunk?”

“I don’t drink,” he replies simply. Your cheeks feel too warm and you have to pat you face to give yourself a semblance of control.

It’s not that you haven’t entertained the idea of being intimate with Taehyung, but it was a bit difficult when you still couldn’t match a face to his name. Perhaps that was just a ‘you’-issue, but it frustrates you and, until now, kept you from getting very far with your fantasies. But with his voice in your ear that night, you think maybe you could get there. Already your skin is taking on a feverish heat, sweat starting to prick certain areas.

“What would you do if we could. H-how would you start?”

He palms himself deftly over his shorts and lets his eyes fall shut in indulgence. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.” Your breath is bated. A hand trails down the top you’re wearing to lift the hem up, exposing the dewy skin of your torso. You pick at the elastic waistband playfully, eager to hear what Taehyung’s plans are for you.

“What are you wearing?”

It’s a benign question, but it still speeds up your heartbeat. His voice is somehow silken in its depth while tugging raggedly at something inside you.

“Um. I’m wearing a camisole and some shorts.”

He hums appreciatively. “Well, first, I’d take off your top. I’d pull the straps off and push the rest down slowly. I’d kiss your neck and your skin all over. Until I get to your breasts.”

Your fingers slide under your shorts to find the crotch of your panties. A growing wet spot greets the searching pads of your fingers. “And then what?”

“Easy, easy.” He smirks. “I’d take my time on you. I bet they’d feel so nice in my hands. Probably soft and warm. I’d put my mouth on them, lick them, suck on them. I’d pinch your nipples until they’re hard and you’re moaning.” Sure enough, a moan floats up through the speaker on Taehyung’s end. “Then I’d kiss your stomach and your hips and then I’d get your shorts off. Are you wearing panties?”

“I am, yeah.”

“Shame,” he pouts. “I’d take those off too. I’d kiss your thighs and then I’d kneel between your legs and I’d taste you. Get you all over my tongue.” His erection throbs with the image and he has to squeeze himself at the base to keep his cool. With his words momentarily halted, you jump in.

“All that sounds nice, but I think I’d like you under me more.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you on your back on the bed and I want you naked. And then I want to sit on your face. I wanna grind on your mouth for a bit and then I want to get you in my mouth too.” His breath hitches sharply in your ear. From the sound of it, he’s stroking himself slowly and leaning on and off the ‘talk’ button. “I want to feel you in my throat. I want to gag around you while I stroke you.”

Taehyung’s whines are high as he fights the urge to fuck into his hand quickly and chase the high he feels pulsing under his skin. “Are you—ngh—are you touching yourself?”

“Yes, but I wish it was you. I’ve got my fingers inside, but it’s not enough when I could have you do it. I want you to stretch me out. I wanna ride you after. I’m gonna ride you one day for real.”

“Can’t wait for that day,” he sighs, tossing his head back.

Taehyung spits into his hand to aid the glide. His hand moves quickly over his length, under the fabric of his bottoms. The slick sounds show up in the background noise of your cabin, egging you on. You bring your fingers to the apex of your lips and ghost them over your swollen clit. The first touch has so much anticipation behind it and has your back bowing off the mattress. Like a feedback loop, your moans set Taehyung’s hand in action and trigger his groans, which bring trickle after trickle of arousal down to wet your hand.

“I bet you’d feel so good. You sound so wet, god. You’d probably squeeze my dick so tight and good.”

“What would you do,” you gasp into the little radio, rolling a nipple under your satiny top. “Tell me what you’d do while I sit on your face.”

“I’d fuck you with my t-tongue. And I’d give some attention to your ass. It would probably look so good from where you’d be sitting. Bouncing on me while I fuck your mouth.”

“Fuck, Tae. I want you so bad.”

“I know,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Add another finger for me and play with your clit with your other hand. I want to hear you come. Be loud for me.”

“I’m so close. I’m—”

As soon as you heed his instructions and add another finger, you’re able to re-angle your hand and hit a sensitive spot along your walls. The sudden onslaught of pleasure makes your volume increase by double. Taehyung’s erection jumps at the sound of your orgasm.

“Did you come?”

Your heaving breaths through the speaker are answer enough. He soldiers through, trying to catch up to you. So you help him along.

“If I were with you, I’d hold your dick right on my tongue so I can taste all of it when you come. Or maybe you want to come inside me. To fill me up and get me all sticky?”

“Fuck,” he grunts one, twice and then his mouth drops open as he spurts over his hand. The thick white of his orgasm leaks through the gaps of his fingers to make a mess. His body tenses with a few of the aftershocks before he flops bonelessly into his pillow. “I can’t feel my toes.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a while either.”

Taehyung pouts up at the top bunk. “If we were on the same side of the lake, we could have just done this in the same bed. Then at least we’d be immobile together.”

“How romantic.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with taking a lazy day off.”

“Maybe not normally. But with the festival coming up, I don’t think we really have that choice.”

“That’s true.”

“But,” the smile is audible in your voice, coy in its sing-song tone. “The next meeting is coming up soon. And we can maybe see each other there.”

“Yeah, we can.” Sleepiness makes his eyelids heavy, but he fights it as best we can. “I wanna see you so bad. Wanna hold you.”

“We can be really brave and hug in the parking lot outside the admin building.”

“I’d swim across the lake if it meant that was the fastest way to see you.”

“Aww. You’re such a sap when you come.”

“Only for you,” he mumbles. His cheek presses into his pillow as he loses his battle against sleep.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’ve been swamped with preparations for the festival. When you’re not busy avoiding paper cuts while designing decorations for the mess hall, you’re fighting off campers who want you to spoil the movie that the boys have chosen for the group as a whole to watch together. You go to bed at night without word from Taehyung, but you’re too tired and too familiar with the work he’s most likely doing to feel upset about it.

You’re so busy and your mind is so full that you don’t even realize that you should be looking for Taehyung when you go to sit down in the conference room. It’s only when you’re zoning out while the camp leader gets progress reports from the boys’ side that you realize you haven’t heard his voice in several days and you’re still not hearing it during the meeting. So you tap your fingers and wait for the meeting to adjourn. And as soon as it does, you make a beeline for Minho. Despite never having spoken with him directly, you’ve heard enough about him in and out of meetings to know what he looks like. Though, even if you hadn’t heard anything from your fellow counselors, you’d heard enough about him from Taehyung. If you listen carefully, you can almost hear similarities in the way that he and Taehyung talk. You suppose that’s what happens with siblings.

“Hi,” you greet him when there’s a lull in the conversation between him and some older counselor from the boys’ side.

“Hi, yourself.” Minho’s eyes widen as he registers your voice. It’s the only part of you he has direct experience with, but he has quite a lot of experience with it. He takes in your appearance with a grin, happy to finally meet the person who’s ensnared his baby brother’s affections.

“We’ve never met before, but my name is—”

“I know who you are. I hear Taehyung talk on the phone with you every night.”

“E-every night? Like even Sunday night?”

“Uhh,” his eyebrows raise at the sudden question. “No, actually. Not Sunday night. I was staying at someone else’s cabin. Why?”

“No reason. Listen, I just wanted to ask you if you knew where Tae was. I was planning on finally meeting with him face to face, but that...didn’t happen. And there’s not much time left.”

“I mean, there’s always after the summer. You both live in the city.”

You give him a non-committal noise that he doesn’t really like the sound of, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not about to butt into his brother’s relationship just because he’s older. Even if it seems like you’re maybe not on the same page about what happens after camp ends.

“Well, he’s not pulling another fast one on you if that’s what you’re worried about. He told me not to tell you, but he got sick off bonfire weenies last night. So he’s probably still at home shitting his pants while he makes banners for the festival.”

“Thanks for that.” You blink away the image Minho’s words bring up and focus on the task at hand. “So I guess I probably won’t see him until the actual day of, then.”

“Probably. Since he’s covering the old art director’s tasks in addition to the musical stuff, he’s pretty swamped and this hot dog thing might set him back a bit. He definitely wants to see you, though.”

Minho tries his best again not to overstep and reveal too much. Not about the rampant diarrhea, but about the way Taehyung’s been scribbling frantically in notebooks for tasks that weren’t assigned to him for the fest. Nor does he tell you about the 3 a.m. guitar sessions. Or the tender way he sees Taehyung pick up the walkie talkie sometimes, holding it in his hand as thoughtfully as someone can when running on 5 hours of sleep.

                                                    (Festival Day)

“Come on, we’re gonna miss the concert!”

A camper pulls you by the wrist from the small station where face painting was being held to the center of the makeshift festival grounds where a stage has been set up.

People have been pulling you around since the wee hours of the morning. By now you’re used to just letting your body follow the person pulling you, but the slight twinge in your wrist is starting to worry you. You replace your wrist with your hand and the camper merely pulls you along harder. There’s already a large amount of campers and counselors from both sides of the lake surrounding the stage where some performances are about to take place. Somehow the 11-year-old holding your hand manages to weave you both through the bodies until you’re only a few feet from the platform.

After a juggling act done by two of your favorite campers, a lovely comedy routine where Moe roasted her ex-husband Cref, and a trio of high school yo-yo experts, the prep for the final performance begins. Apparently, Camp Lonely Heart had an anthem that all the campers learned in their music periods so they could all sing together during the final days of the summer. Since you were never present for the music sessions, you didn’t really know there was a song. Luckily for you, Jade gave you a sheet with the lyrics printed on them earlier that morning. You didn’t have any time to memorize them, but you got a good look and they seemed like pretty typical camp lyrics.

You spot Minho making his way to the front of the stage easily. He’s got a small glittery sign that says “That’s my little brother” and a few of the guys around him snicker when he waves it at the counselor and camper on stage. The words on the sign are slow to register with you, so it takes a moment for you to put two and two together to get Taehyung. But you do. And when you do, all you can hear is your own blood rushing in your ears and all you can see is him.

He’s seated with a guitar resting casually in his lap. His hair is long. Longer than you imagined it would be. It’s also lighter than you thought it would be based solely off Minho’s own dark chestnut locks. He’s handsome, though. With the honeyed skin and the large, expressive eyes behind vintage frames to offset the manly geometry of his other features. The young boy next to him on stage must say something nice or cute, because his whole face lights up. You marvel at the boxy shape of his mouth while he laughs.

In the background noise, you hear the camper, Jungkook, make a little speech about this summer and camaraderie and how long it took for him and Taehyung to prepare this original arrangement of the Camp Lonely Heart anthem you’re about to hear. But it all sort of washes in one ear and out the other. Instead you’re watching Taehyung bounce his foot with pre-show nerves and smile occasionally at what the other counselor says. Then he’s being handed the mic and he’s looking out into the audience. You lock eyes after a few beats, and he holds your gaze like he’s trying to see if you know who you’re looking at. Maybe it’s your awestruck expression. Or maybe it’s the stupid smile on your face when his voice comes through the mic and you’re hearing the voice you’ve grown to love pour through something other than shitty walkie talkie speakers. But either way, his back becomes a little straighter while he greets the crowd and tells them he hopes they like the song.

Everything after that is kind of a blur. You don’t sing along and instead watch Taehyung sing back up to Jungkook’s pretty tenor stylings. Minho was screaming when the song ended and threw some snipped sunflowers wrapped in cellophane onto the stage at Taehyung and Jungkook’s feet. In that chaotic moment of applause, you slip out the crowd after making sure Taehyung’s eyes are on you. The path you make is clear: a beeline straight behind the cabins on the trail that leads through the small foothills. With the festival going on and all the campers in one place, counselor supervision has to be tight. No campers allowed past these parts.

After giving him a few minutes to catch up, you can hear his footsteps are close behind you. The trek is short and you come up to step past the gates that open into the camp’s lavender field. It’s been a while since you last visited it, but the smell is just as fragrant and lovely as it was the first time. Your heart rate slows down slightly. Anticipation makes everything in you coil taut, full of sharp and tiny vibrations. You feel giddy. When his footsteps thud softly and finally behind you, you release your breath and turn around.

“It’s you.”

“Me,” he confirms with his palms open like an offering. An offering that you take immediately.

Your launch yourself into his open arms and he huffs as he takes the impact. The hug is tight like you’re worried he’ll turn into mist if you’re not careful. His arms are sturdy around you and he pulls you in even tighter so he can get closer. He runs the tip of his nose along your temple, revelling in the way the summer sun mingles with the scent of your soap and you. It’s a small detail but it’s exciting. Here you are, in the flesh, in all your glory. Your arms and bare legs are covered in small splatters of dried paint from the last minute changes you had to make to some of the decorations this morning. And your counselor’s t-shirt has a few rips and frays in the seams from all the wear and tear it got over the summer. The flyaways in your hair and the way you sway as you hold him are all catalogued. Even in this more life-worn state, he can’t stop looking at you.

You pull back after a long while with your heart still beating in your throat. There were so many things you planned on doing when you first met Taehyung for the first time, but now you’re overwhelmed. Perhaps it’s because, in the back of your mind, you’re worried about time. It feels very fairytale-like, the way you only managed to come face to face on a special occasion. Like a good dream that will come to an end at the beep of an alarm or a fantasy that collapses into tatters at the stroke of midnight. You try to remind yourself that you’re not in a fairytale. This is real life and you have more than midnight because you have the internet and public transportation. But is that enough? You shake the thoughts out of your head, trying to focus on the here and now because it may be all you have.

“I liked your song,” you finally say. Both his hands come up to cup your face.

“Thanks. I practiced a lot for you.”

“It paid off.”

He takes a deep breath and accepts your compliment robotically before letting his eyes flit back down to your upturned mouth. “Can I kiss you,” he sighs.

“Please.”

The kiss doesn’t actually start for quite a few moments. As soon as he has your permission, then he decides to take his time. Your eyes are nearly closed and he admires the pretty shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Impatience scratches at your nerves, but you try to go with the flow. He tilts your head in his hands like he’s calculating the best angle to kiss you from, knowing he’s driving you crazy from the little frustrated huffs you let out. Chuckling, he ghosts his lips over yours once before fully pressing forward.

As soon as your lips move together for the first time, you both let out twin sighs. Instantly, like a choreographed dance, arms and hands move in tandem to bring each other closer. You experiment with the long hair that flirts with the back of his neck before following its path and dipping your fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. He responds with large hands spreading over the small of your back, fingertips digging in before lifting and then digging in again like a game of  practicing restraint.

You press your chest to his in an effort to get closer to him and unwittingly tease him with the promise of more unexplored softness under your clothes. He opens your mouth up with his own and nudges a subtle rhythm against your tongue. You moan and he mirrors the sound earnestly.

“I don’t think we can make it to the cabins,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“That’s fine,” you lay both hands on his chest and enjoy the firmness you find before pushing him back towards the tall rows of lavender. “I don’t need a bed if you don’t.”

“You’re something else.” He pulls back then with a wet sound. His lips are slightly puffy and shiny from kissing you and you grapple with the urge to bite them. You lose the battle and he shivers at the feel of you nipping at him. “Fuck.”

Once he and you have stumbled far enough back amongst the fragrant bushes and you find a soft enough patch of flattened lavender, you lower yourself to your hands and knees. He scrambles to sit beside you before immediately pulling you back in. You straddle his waist and rest some of your weight on his thighs while you peel off your shirt and bra. His hands smooth over the curve of your side once the skin is exposed, noting the way you arch into his touch. With an inquiring look, your hands move to the fly of his cutoffs. He lays back and then lifts his hips, impressively with you still seated on his lap, to pull his bottoms down and off. You do the same with yours and return to your perch as fast as possible.

Taehyung’s fingers find the soaked center of your panties and you rock your hips against the heel of his palm when he wriggles a finger in experimentally. He lets out a low appreciative whistle at how wet you are. You get wetter still when he grinds up into your clit to get you to lose some of the control you’ve garnered since leading him to the field. The feeling forces you to lean your hands on his abdomen, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“I want you inside me,” your moan shudders with the rhythm of the little circles you gyrate onto his long fingers. “I wanna ride you like I promised.”

“Are you sure you’re ready? We have time until we need to go back for clean up.”

“I know, but I want you to fuck me a couple of times before that happens.”

“I don’t have a condom, though.”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah...You?”

“Yes,” your mouth drops open when he scrubs at a particularly sensitive spot on your slick walls. “And I’m on the pill. If you want, we could...”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I want it,” you assure him.

He takes off his shirt while you massage your breasts and take in more of his body now that it’s on display. The long hair framing his face falls prettily in his eyes after the shirt displaced it. Once it’s off, he pulls your panties to the side to admire the crystalline sheen that coats your lower lips. You shoo his fingers out of the way and pull the fabric to a more ideal angle before lowering yourself onto his length. The skin of his erection is hot to the touch and parts your lips easily. Your hips move in stuttering pushes forward to bump your clit against the swollen head.

“Oh, fuck,” his hands fly up to comb through his bangs. “God, this—you’re so sexy.”

“You are too. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

With that, you raise up just enough to grip his length and line him up with your entrance. Instantly you realize his girth is a bit of a challenge, so you’re not as quick as you’d like when you take him in. But the slick aids things and your pelvises are snuggly slotted together after a few moments and some deep breaths. Taehyung’s hand flies to the slight bulge in your lower belly, enjoying the way he seems to fill you already.

You rest your hands on his ribcage again and get your bearings. With an efficient readjustment of your weight so you can freely work your thighs, you begin bouncing on him with no pretenses. His answering moan is louder than he clearly intended because as soon as it’s out, he bites down on his tongue. It’s clear he doesn’t want to make it obvious where you are and what you’re doing, but he’s having trouble containing himself. There’s sweat already starting to prickle under the surface of his skin and his hands feel restless just minutes into your ministrations.

Taehyung settles for muttering quiet curses and gripping your rapidly circling hips with bruising force. He can barely keep up with the pace you’ve set, but he does manage. He thrusts up to meet your every downstroke, though it’s not without an obscene slapping sound. The fact that he’s so visibly affected by your movements gets you wetter every second until he almost slips out a few times. You adjust your rhythm so that’s not a problem, but your thighs are burning with the effort. Taehyung sees through hooded eyes that you’re losing steam and seizes his chance.

You’ve opted for sitting and grinding with him inside you when he starts to shift. His arms come to envelope you and keep you steady as he sits up. Then you’re suddenly on your back. You want to protest about the dirt, but the ground looked clean and dry and doesn’t make your back itch, so you let it happen. Taehyung repositions himself among your splayed legs, hitching one up to wrap around his hip. He grabs the ankle of your other leg and lifts it slowly, testing your flexibility and giving you time to tell him where your limit is. When your ankle is hovering level with his shoulder, you give him a cheeky smirk at his wide eyed expression. He punishes your silent brag by sucking a rough hickey into the skin just above your ankle before resting it on his shoulder. The very fact that he’s pretzled you like this turns him on and gives him a slight energy boost. He figures you must have stolen some of his life force with the way you rode him earlier.

“Little succubus,” he spits through gritted teeth as he begins pistoning his hips against yours.

You let out a shameless laugh that quickly devolves into a low moan with the way the new angle feels. He’s not going to last much longer if you continue to squeeze around him like you’re doing, but he’s fairly certain you’ll finish first. Certain because his hand moves down between your bodies to tweak at one of your nipples. He noticed earlier how your eyes fogged over while you played with yourself in the same way. Leaning over, he continues to thrust into you while pulling the nipple between his teeth. He rakes over it lightly and your leg tenses before falling back down with a thud. You don’t seem to notice and instead your abdomen spasms with the waves of pleasure that begin lapping at you without ebbing back. The feeling merely builds until it explodes the moment he minutely clenches his jaw and bites. It’s a small amount of pain, but it takes you by surprise and pushes you over the edge.

With your walls milking him, he follows your high soon with his own. His breaths come out in deep huffs in your ear, heavy with bass. You test your limbs and the shifting makes you aware of the come he filled you with. When he pulls out, the sensation grows and you’re moaning weakly as it leaks out. He takes his lower lip in between his teeth as he watches the evidence his orgasm drip from your puffy center. He kind of wants to push it back in with his tongue or his fingers just to watch it drip out again, but he knows you might still be sensitive. So he settles for stroking your hip bone lovingly.

Grabby hands creep into his peripheral vision. It’s you silently asking for him to come lie with you, and he does. He presses sweet kisses against your lips until you sling a leg over his hip and add tongue. His dick twitches with the promise of second round, rubbing against the soft skin of your inner thigh. Normally, he’d need more time between orgasms. But you’re kissing his neck and for some reason the smell of your sweat combined with lavender is a miraculous pairing and has the blood flowing back south. A quick glance at his wrist watch tells him that there’s still a good 45 minutes and he flashes the little screen to you. Your answering grin is the rest of the motivation he needs.

The festival day ended two days ago. Following your rendezvous, you both smoothed out your clothes and shook the grass out of them before sneaking back into the campgrounds smelling suspiciously of lavender and ‘something else’ according to Moe. You managed to somehow avoid her keen nose just like Taehyung avoided his older brother’s wiggly eyebrows.

Clean up was an absolute bitch that night, so you both went to bed without hitting each other up. And the following day was for making sure all the campers were packed up and shipped off to town or picked up by their guardians. That was somehow more exhausting even though there wasn’t any cleaning or sweaty sex involved. It was probably the giant bonfire you had and the 40s you threw back that night with your co-counselors. It was probably the most fun you had with them in a while. You were up into the wee hours recounting all the chaos from the last week and the shenanigans that resulted from having the counselors from the other side of the lake involved. No one mentions you slipping away for over an hour, and for that you’re thankful.

But the headache you wake up with the next day has you silently cursing the whole camp. You don’t need to spend a long time packing, and you’re out of your cabin in record time. Hitching a ride with one of the other early risers, you find yourself at the admin building with plenty of time to kill until you have to walk to the nearest bus stop. There’s donuts and bagels and a basic fruit plate in the conference room and you stealthily sneak some food out while the camp leader interrogates other counselors about how they felt the summer went. You even resort to filling out your evaluation form in the hallway to avoid the camp leader’s hawk-like gaze. You’re still seated on the floor, counting the dots in the pattern on the linoleum tiles, when Taehyung’s characteristic sneakers appear in front of you.

“You going home?”

It’s an awkward question, but it technically shouldn’t be. The last moments in the lavender field were spent with you skirting around his questions about where in the city you lived and what your plans for the fall were. It seemed pointless to tell him all that and act as if you were guaranteed to be able to pick things up where they left off once camp closed for the summer. With your back turned that day, you missed the way Taehyung looked at you after struggling with the feeling of not knowing you. Despite the fact that he felt deep in his soul not more than 3 hours ago that he knew you.

Couple this with the fact that you did have down time after the festival ended, but you said you were busy when you weren’t and you end up where you are now. Suddenly uncomfortable in front of the guy you’d been opening yourself up to for months because you never really got to breach the subject of what would happen when the summer ended. Now you’re realizing these are probably your last moments with what you had with him at Camp Lonely Heart.

“My bus is coming at 2,” you say eventually. He tries one last time.

“That’s hours from now. I can...I could drive you instead. I’m going into the city anyway.”

Yes, your brain wants you to say. Take me home, and then come in and stay with me. You want to utter the words, but your tongue grows heavy and clumsy. So instead you say something stupid.

“The ticket’s non-refundable.”

“Oh.” His head lowers to stare at his own shoes. “Yeah, that’s...I get that. Money, right?”

“Yeah.” You stare down at your shoes. You fight to find a redeemable moment, something lighter to end the summer on. “Hey, uh, look what I brought when I cleaned out my cabin.”

Taehyung stares down at your seated form while you fish through your little backpack for something. He’s not sure why the moment he was dreading before officially meeting you is happening now. The rejection he was hoping to avoid by remaining a nameless, faceless voice is now slowly rearing its ugly head.

“Look!” Your voice is a bit too enthusiastic to come off as 100% genuine, but the sight of the walkie talkie that started it all does make Taehyung smile despite himself.

When he pulls out a matching device from the side pocket of his messenger bag, the uncomfortable atmosphere lifts a little. Minho shows up then, keys jingling in his pocket. He calls for Taehyung and looks at you curiously.

“Are you coming with?” Before you can explain, Taehyung answers for you.

“She can’t. She’s gotta catch the bus.”

“The bus that’s going into the city? Where we’re also headed,” Minho asks with an incredulous smile that’s got none of the usual sweetness in it.

He looks at you for a better answer, one that makes more sense, but you don’t volunteer one when suddenly put on the spot. The slump in Taehyung’s shoulders betray the weak smile on his face. To Minho, the whole situation positively reeks of a similar situation his baby brother got into when he was younger and much less careful with his heart. He’s not 100% surprised at you, though. He saw this coming in the last few days when there were no calls from you and Taehyung’s eyes lost their summer shine. Minho pins you with a look of disappointment that you feel deep in your bones before he gives you a second chance.

“Tae, can you go start up the car?”

There must be something in Minho’s voice that you miss because Taehyung surprises you by only hesitating for a second before taking the keys and turning on his heel. You can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time you watch Taehyung leave, but you can’t bear to face him until he’s gone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I just panicked when he asked if I was coming, so I said no.” He sighs in what you think is understanding, eyes closing momentarily before opening again. This time, his face is slightly more patient. He thinks he knows what’s going on.

“Do you want to ride home with us? With him?” There’s something else in the question, and you see it and grab at it, even though the implications scare you.

“I think so. I want to spend more time with him before I have to go for good. We didn’t really...talk about how this would end.”

“Does it have to end?”

“I mean, you know what they say about summer flings. Plus, this all happened in a really weird environment. Who knows if all of this was only possible because we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Mm, yeah. It sounds like you guys were lucky in that regard,” he crosses his arms. “But you can take luck and build on it with actual effort and make something solid.”

You open your mouth to protest, but you can’t think of anything to actually say because he’s right. So you pick up your backpack and zip it up and gesture for him to lead the way to the car. A tiny bit of prideful approval bleeds onto his otherwise grave expression. On the way to the parking lot, your mind swirls with thoughts about the ways that this thing could fall apart. About how a summer haze made everything possible or how the distance that can’t be covered by walkie talkies will be the end of you and Taehyung. You look up to catch Taehyung’s profile as he waits for Minho in the driver’s seat. You also catch the way his face goes from a flat mask of indifference to surprise to badly concealed joy at the sight of you trudging behind his older brother. He rolls down the window while Minho makes a beeline for the back seat.

“You’re coming?”

“If that’s okay.” And you do wonder. Is this okay? Can we really do this? Can we make it?

“Y-yeah, of course,” seems to be Taehyung’s answer to all your questions, even the ones unspoken.

While you make your way to the passenger’s side, Taehyung whips his head around to stare at his brother.

“What did you say to her?”

“I’m not telling you, but just know that you may owe me for life after this.”

“Alright,” Taehyung concedes as you get in and strap in for the ride.

Thanks for reading through these collab pieces with me. Plz also go check out the pieces @polaritae wrote on the masterlist link above!!

[thebatnook]

Red-sugar heart

M. Morris Cuevas

It’s 5 am and the world is still. The barest hint of sunrise through my window, growing slowly over the bag of sweets, almost empty, next to my pen holder. My eyes are gritty and the words on the page are a blurred painting of hieroglyphs. I’m supposed to be studying, have been for the past hour, but whatever rush I got from the last dregs of the coffee pot is quickly fading. 

I reach for another sweet, maybe the sugar will keep me awake, a candy heart, that I hold up to the light to examine, anything to not study. It’s rosy pink, and I squint at the inscription. Blue bird. Cute nickname. I throw it in my mouth. Looking back at the textbook. The French Revolution began on the 14th of July, 1789, the day revolutionaries stormed the prison of Bastille. 

I frown at the sentence. Looking back at my notes. Yes, right, already wrote that down. I tap my pen against the paper, crunching down another heart. Some fiddling later, I look back on the text. The French Revolution began-. My head falls onto the table, and I groan in frustration. This is not working. The time reads 5:30. Meh, late enough, my roommates won’t be that annoyed if I crash around in the kitchen, not if it is to prepare the elixir of mortals, coffee. 

Grabbing, the empty coffee mug, slamming the textbook shut. And why not, another candy. 

It’s a orange one this time. With a little extra bump. It’s light enough to read the inscription. Watch out. What? My body freezes, and in the same second, a loud thwack against the window. The coffee cup falls on the floor, an empty crash. And I stare in shocked numbness as  the blue feathers of a bird zip away from the glass. 

My limbs are locked into place, mind blank, until some primal thing kicks in, an zap of electricity, and I am scrambling on the floor to find that candy heart. I find it next to an old shirt, it falls from my fingers too many times as I get the candy under the lamp light. It’s love, it reads, in that slightly red tint. 

I huff in annoyance, I know it is the same one, the tiny bump is still there, but why would it say anything else other than the usual cheesy messages? I leave it there on the desk, picking up the coffee mug, frowning even more at the new chip on the edge. 

A step away from the door, I hesitate, hand still on the doorknob. This has to be in my mind. The lack of sleep caught up to me. The bird was nothing but a coincidence. But what if it’s not. What if the things actually tell the future. What if it is actually magic. 

I spin back, two skipped steps to stand in front of the desk again, looking for the rest of the candies. 

The bag is almost empty, a stripped thing in red and pinks, tearing easily as I spill the rest of the hearts onto the desk. A dozen or so tiny colorful candies, a light tang of sugar around them. 

One by one I read them, heart rate speeding up with each one I look over. Most of them are blank, and the ones with text have the standard phrases. Love me, text me, true love, kiss. Nothing unusual. What luck, I think, bitter taste in my mouth, not everything can be like a dream. 

I sigh, my body sagging, my arms dragging down, as if each weighed a ton. I blink at the candies again, one last search. 

And then is when I see a clump of three, arranged in a straight line, Roommate, awake, fall, they read. Blue, pink, pink. And just as a finish reading the last one there is the shrill beeping of Amanda’s alarm, followed by a muffled thump and the followed string of muttered curses. 

I whip my head back, but the words are gone. It can’t be a coincidence. Right? 

Maybe it’s not in my head. But I must be sure. Another glance at the clock. 5:37. I have to get going, don’t want to be late. 

But I need to know. Which is why the candies that are left are now buried in my pocket, as I pour the coffee grains into the machine. Just as Amanda wanders into the kitchen. 

“Morning Taylor.” she says, the bloom of a new bruise on her elbow. 

“Ouch.” I gesture towards it. 

“Not the worst, I just fell from the bed.” 

I nod along, fingers playing with the candies. The itch to try again like a mosquito in my ear. 

Amanda goes around the kitchen, preparing her breakfast. I just lounge on the single stool, watching as condensation builds up on the coffee pot. 

“Are you having anything?” she says, platting scrambled eggs. 

“In a second.” 

The curiosity is too much.  I wait for her to turn, and take out the candies, scattering them on the counter. 

Orange, blue, pink. Roommate, pan, burn. Sirens go off in my head, whipping my gaze up from the message to see Amanda, just as the still hot pan slips through her hands, right onto her feet. 

“Ah!” The pan clatters to the ground, Amanda hopping back, cursing and wincing. 

“Oh no, no, no.” I rush forward, helping her to the stool. 

“Ice, do we have ice?” she says, teeth still gritted, examining the reddened batch of skin, a half moon indent. 

“Frozen corn.” I pass it to her, my own hands shaking a bit. Glancing at  the candy hearts out of the corner of my eyes, the message long gone. 

Amanda hisses, pressing the bag on the burn. The redness is fading, but the swelling is just beginning. 

“Can you walk?” Guilt crawls over my shoulders. 

“Don’t think so.” she said, with another wince. I had to look away, an uncomfortable feeling growing in my gut. 

“I’ll help you to the infirmary.” I said, moving away abruptly. Head stubbornly turned away from the counter. 

I leave Amanda there, with a newly bandaged foot. One of her friends found us, and promised to help her back. So I was free, backpack over my shoulder, heading to the first class, any hope of studying squandered. How could I. Not knowing that the candies actually worked. The very things I now carried, underneath all the textbooks. I don’t even know why I put them there. 

Morbid curiosity maybe. Or so nobody else could see them. Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to know this. Nobody would believe me anyway, I told myself, as I slid into my seat in class. Nobody had to know. 

As the day went on the urge to take out the candies became stronger, a burning curiosity. And they were right there, I just needed to reach into my backpack. I stole glances at it more times than I can count, while pretending to take notes. I wasn’t paying attention to the lecturer anyway, words a garbled radio static in the corner of my mind. 

Just a quick check, I repeat to myself, walking away from the classroom. I will only take a minute. I find an empty picnic table, still wet from last night's rain. I don’t care, even if my jeans are soaked through in seconds. My focus is only on the candies, excitement growing like weeds in my head. 

It's just so I know how to react, I mumble, digging up the candies. Letting them fall like pennies onto the tabletop. Eyes scanning wildly for anything, anything at all. 

Yes. I almost jump from the thrill. There, there; in the middle. Undergrad, glass. My face immediately falls, the outside chill catching up to me. Oh no. 

I don’t even have time to look up, when the crash breaks through the building besides me. A guy runs out moments later, clenching his hand. Blood dripping down his forearm. 

Everybody stares at him in stunned silence. My eyes are glued to the tiny dots of red on the sidewalk. 

Slowly, gripping the edge of the table to stop my hands from shaking, I look back at the back at the candies. Innocent and colorful. Confetti against the dark surface. 

Ok, ok. I let out a shaky breath. The words were gone, of course, and the sight of the blank hearts sits wrongly with me, my jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other. As if they were mocking me, there was never anything here, you are making it all up. Just making it all up for what?

I throw them again with more force than necessary, some falling onto the floor and breaking into dust. I ignore them. Eyes glued to the message. Girl, football.

I don’t even look up, only hearing the hit, and the crunch. As the football collided with a girl's face, right against her nose, blood no doubt pooling above her lips. 

The stern voice of a professor cuts through  the mix, footsteps approaching.My heart falls to the ground.  I have to look up, panic building in my limbs. But he wasn’t walking towards me, scolding the people playing instead, voice muffled from the distance. 

I turn back quickly, cursing myself because in that second I looked away, the words had changed. No trace of the previous image. I ball my hands up into fists, suppressing the urge to scream at the things. 

A shaky breath in, then out. I force myself to relax. A fake smile on my face. One more try, and this time I would not look away, no matter what. 

The things stopped rolling, and the new words appearing on the ones closest to me. Creating a tunnel vision on them. But my blood chilled once I read them, eyes rising in horror, seeing the professor crumple to the ground, hand to his chest.

 Professor, heart attack. They said. Gone now. Not that it mattered now. With everyone swarming around the fallen man, the distant swell of sirens shocking me out of my frozen state. 

I scooped up the hearts. These things didn’t predict the future. These things caused disasters. I made them that. Dangerous. Nobody should touch these. Least of all me. 

My hands were shaking as I tried to shove all of them into a paper water cone. People were side eyeing me. Some just stared at me with a knowing grin. 

I didn’t pay them any attention, finally twisting the cone closed, and bumbling my way to the nearest trash can, hesitating for only a moment before throwing the candies in. 

Relief washed over me. Like a fresh morning breeze, each step away lighter than the last. Until something fell out of my pocket. A pink candy heart. Love me, written in dark red ink. 

People walked past me, leaving me in a small insulated pocket. Staring at the heart. Love me. 

Anger burned through the fear, and with a crunch beneath my shoe it was gone. Dust on the damp cement. A breathless laugh escaped my lips, as I walked away. Never buying candy hearts again, I vow, repressing a shudder. Never again.  

(Originally from Instagram @thebatnook)

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o4

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss.

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park) feat. Park Jimin  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

words: 3.5k genre: angst, romance, fluff

chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14

warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn

a/n: still a fool. still reuploading.

Samuel wasn't exactly sure just how long he'd been laying there, lazily staring at Erin while she slept peacefully. However, he did know that it had been long enough for him to discern that she had a weird habit of muttering things to herself while she slept. Most of it was nonsense, but that didn't make it any less charming in Sam's eyes. Which is why Erin awoke to the sight of him gazing at her with an exceptionally large grin on his face.

"What are you doing?" She asked without so much as a flinch, she was used to waking up him in the same bed as her by now. Albeit he was usually never this close when she woke up but Erin decided that it was too early to question things.

"Watching you sleep, did you know that you talk in your sleep, noona?" Sam said, his eyes never leaving her face as she shifted on the mattress to sit up and rub her tired eyes.

"I do not" Erin scoffed.

"You really do, it's fucking weird."

"Well, if I'm such a weird sleeper why are you in here?" The brunette asked while she moved to lean over Sam's body, detaching her cell phone from its charging cable then leaning back down to rest the back of her head against her pillow.

"It's cold in the living room and the heater is still broken" Sam pouted and snuggled closer to his friend by wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and placing his head on her shoulder.

"Why don't you make use of that electronic blanket I bought you?" Erin asked while caressing his cheek with one hand and using the other to scroll through the few messages she'd received while asleep. Quite a few of them were from Brian which made her smile inadvertently.

Erin may not have noticed the smile creeping up on her face but Samuel did, which made the pleasant grin he was wearing waver slightly then fall completely when Erin removed her hand from his cheek and began replying to the messages with questions about their date later than night. Samuel coughed slightly and detached himself from his best friend.

Noticing the loss of warmth next to her, Erin looked up "Where are you going?" 

"Uh-I've got a class soon. I should start getting ready for it," Sam replied from the edge of the bed, looking back at Erin over his shoulder "I'll see you later, all right?"

"Alright. See you." Erin said softly as she watched him get up and leave the bedroom without a second glance. She sat in silence for a what couldn't have been more than a few seconds, waiting for his head to pop up in the corner of the doorway like it usually did when he was getting ready for class but it never did. Instead, Erin only heard the sound of the shower turning on and the gentle ping from her phone to notify that she had an incoming message.

It had been a long and tiring day for young Samuel Park.  He never enjoyed going to any of his classes, but he attended them all because he knew that was expecting of him. He suffered through the mind-numbing bore that was majoring in Engineering, knowing that his last year was coming up soon and this would all be over, eventually. After he struggled through the three classes he had that day he moved from one level hell to another, namely his part-time job at a convenience store a few blocks away from his apartment. The job itself was easy since Sammy loved people and he had the indescribable quality to make everyone like him for no real reason, even the particularly annoying customers didn't bother him as much as his manager did. The man did everything he possibly could to make sure that Sam worked twice as hard as anyone else there when they worked the same schedule. Cleaning the bathrooms, mopping up spills that never seemed to happen when Sam worked by himself or with another member of the team; there were even a few times where Sam found himself washing his manager's car just to avoid being fired or punished with something much worse. 

Even with all that; the stress always seemed to melt right off Samuel's shoulders when he got home, especially when Erin was already home and he could hear her voice. Today was different though, Sam inhaled and exhaled deeply when he opened the door and stepped over the threshold of their shared apartment. He was met with the sound Erin butchering some song that he heard a lot on the radio from her bedroom, her knowledge of the language was nearly perfect but Erin was far from a talented singer. With an amused grin on his lips, Sam pushed off his shoes, kicked the door closed behind him and headed to the source of the loud music. 

"At least one of us had a good da-" Sam begin to say before he stopped in the doorway with a dumbstruck look on his face. He could tell she was getting ready to go somewhere judging by the amount of makeup things she had spread across her vanity, but that wasn't what made him stop. It wasn't even because she was dancing around the room with her eyes screwed shut screeching into a hairbrush like a twelve-year-old, what gave him pause was the fact that she was doing all of this while wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and little else. His fingertips twitched with the desire to touch her by his side, making Sam stuff his hands into his pockets and clear his throat loudly while leaning casually against the doorpost.

"You run out of clothes?" He asked coolly, as if one of his fantasies wasn't playing out before his very eyes.

"Aigoo, Sammy! You startled me," Erin grinned as her eyes shot open and she clutched her chest "I didn't think you'd be home yet, sorry about the noise" She apologised and moved toward her cell to lower her music. 

Sammy nodded toward her torso and Erin glanced down, his earlier question playing back in her mind "Oh this..... this isn't what it looks like" She motioned to the shirt that barely covered her thighs before reaching down to toy with the hem "I'm wearing white tonight and I didn't want to risk getting any makeup on my top. I thought it'd be okay since I hardly ever see you wear this." Erin shrugged and glanced at the ground.

"I can take it off it bothers you,"

"No!" Samuel replied, a little too quickly. "I mean it's fine, you're right I don't wear that anymore," He said with an awkward laugh  then took a few steps forward. "Hot date tonight?"

Erin nodded "Uh yeah, with Brian" She sighed as she took a seat on the edge of her bed to pull on her jeans. Sammy really tried his best not to glance, but that was a losing battle. "We met up for coffee yesterday but tonight will be our first official date."

"Nervous?" He asked while hovering close to where she sat but never quite getting close.

"I wasn't at first but now I kind of am?" Erin looked up and smiled "Is that pathetic? I haven't been on a proper date in a very long time, what if I say something stupid?" She groaned which made Sammy smile and finally sit down next to her, his hands coming out of his pockets to rest in his lap.

"He'll just think you're cute, that's nothing to worry about" Samuel reassured Erin by gently squeezing her knee and rubbing against it with his thumb.

It was the first form of contact that he'd initiated with her that wasn't just a hug apart from the cuddling that morning and the action sent sparks of raging fire surging throughout Erin's body. When she worked up the courage to look up Erin nibbled nervously on her bottom lip, he was giving her the same look he was that night after the gallery viewing. Except this time his intense gaze seemed to drift from her eyes and lips down to her torso then back up to her face.

The air between them was charged and only took the feeling of Sam's hand gingerly moving up her thigh for Erin to force air into her lungs again "I should probably finish getting dressed" she breathed, her voice scratchy and meek. Sam stilled his movements and then looked into her eyes and nodded, his standard smiling expression replacing the look of desire he had been wearing just a few seconds earlier "Yeah.... I'll get out of your hair" He said with a curt nod while standing to his feet.

"Speaking of hair... when did yours get so curly again?" He turned to ask on his way out of the room. 

"Oh. I stopped doing the magic perm thing a couple months ago, I've been using a flat iron to keep it straight but I decided to let it free tonight. What do you think? Too much?" Erin asked with a twinge of insecurity in her voice.

"No." Sam sighed "You look perfect."

The warm sensation of Samuel's hand caressing her thigh still replayed in Erin's mind; it flared up throughout her subway ride to Hongdae and the feeling continued to surround her with warmth as she walked the few blocks toward the address Brian had texted her. It was silly of her to stop him and Erin knew that but she didn't want to go there with Sammy until she knew exactly what he wanted from her. Well, besides the obvious. Sleeping with him or even just making out with him at this point would only make their friendship and living situation awkward unless they were both ready to commit to whatever was building between them.

"You made it!"

Brian's lilt voice broke Erin's train of thought and she looked up to see her date for the night standing with an arm outstretched and a welcoming smile on his face. Erin nodded and brightened up as she closed the distance between them, vowing not to think about her roommate for the rest of the night.

"I was just about to call, I though you might have gotten lost," Brian said while offering her his arm.

"Ah, no just late. You refused to tell me where we're going so I didn't know what to dress for." Erin replied, all of her nervousness returning as she took hold of Brian's muscular arm.

He laughed, and the sound seemed to calm Erin but not much. "Trust me you look great, come on it's not too far from here" Brian stated and began leading them up the street.

The pair made small talk during the brief walk, mostly about their day and compliments on their attire. Brian was dressed more casually than he was the first time they met, trading his button down and khaki slacks for a plain white tee, a large coat and a pair of distressed jeans. On his feet were a pair of golden brown Timberland boots, which seemed to add a few inches to his height but Erin kept that observation to herself. His hair was still blindingly orange but instead of being neatly styled and pushed back from his face it all seemed to fall forward and stop just above his eyes tonight. Erin liked being able to see his features more, but this way was nice too. Brian seemed like the type of guy that could put anything on and make it work for him.

"Here we are!" Brian announced as they came to a stop, Erin looked up and immediately felt all the warmth drain from her face. The sign that immediately caught her eye was DVD방 and the feeling of surprise she felt first was immediately replaced with annoyance as she turned to look over at Brian who seemed to be oblivious to Erin's reaction. 

"There's the most amazing little pub in the basement of this building," He started as he began leading her forward "Most nights you need a password to get in but I got my manager to put us on the list tonight."

Erin said nothing, only allowing herself to be led forward and down a mirrored staircase until they were standing in front of a room with an unmarked door. Brian knocked twice and a pair of thin eyes appeared from behind the slot in the middle of the door. He whispered a few things that Erin couldn't make out and after a few seconds the door opened to reveal an elaborately decorated bar.

It couldn't have been any bigger than Erin's living room and it was packed to the brim with different types of alcohol and decorations that looked like they were lifted straight from the year 1922, leaving just a bar and a few tables for seating. There was soft music playing in the background but the volume was low enough to encourage conversation and not the opposite. Brian led Erin to a table in the centre of the room and pulled out her chair for her then took a seat himself. "Have you eaten? They make great Kimchi bokkeumbap here."

"That sounds good," Erin finally scratched out in response to his question, removing her coat and laying it across her lap.

Having gotten over her initial shock, Erin loosened up as the night went on, the bottle of soju they shared helped that, of course. They covered standard first date topics; where each of them grew up, went to school, what Erin was studying at her university since Brian wasn't enrolled in any college, what Brian did when he wasn't painting. The conversation ebbed and flowed in a way that was natural and didn't seem forced on either party. After a few hours had passed by Erin rested her hands on the table and gave Brian a mischievous look that made him raise his eyebrows.

"Can I say something?" She blurted out after a second.

"Of course," he replied.

"I am just so glad that you're not one of those kinds of guys," Erin answered, sounding exasperated.

"What kind of guy?" he asked and leaning forward as if he was intrigued to hear her analysis of him after just a few hours.

"Y'know... the kind of guy that meets a foreign girl and expects her to sleep with him after buying her a cup of coffee and saying some cute things in Korean."

Brian's eyes widened with shock and he stammered over his words "W-why would you think that?"

"I went to high school here Brian, I know what it means when a guy brings you to a DVD방 on the first date."

"Oh my god," Brian stuttered as realisation soon washed over him "I wasn't even thinking about that, I am so sorry. T-that wasn't even crossing my mind-."

"It's alright, it's alright. I figured that out once we sat down and actually started eating," Erin laughed as she tried to ease her date's nerves.

"Okay that's good" Brian sighed and relaxed in his seat. He leaned back and folded his arm across his chest for a few moments, looking pensive. "Hey, since we're saying things... can I ask you something?"

"Sure,"

"What's the deal with your roommate? S..am was his name, right? Are you guys... like..... Or have you ever..." He was fumbling over his words and making gestures with his hands that made Erin break into a laugh and cover her mouth with her hand.

"Ah, we're just friends. We've never dated or anything like that," She replied, which was mostly true. They hadn't dated. "Actually, calling him just a friend doesn't seem good enough. He was the first genuine friend that I made after moving here and he's been my very best friend ever since. His family moved in next to mine and we all became really close, his mom even taught me Korean," Erin mused with a wide smile. "I mean I had a tutor at school and everything but she really helped me appreciate the culture behind all the words I was learning. Without Sammy or his family being there for me I don't think I would have found any happiness here when I was younger, so in a way he's more than just a friend to me. He's family."

Brian nodded as she spoke, noting the way she seemed to smile a little brighter whenever she said her roommate's name. He thought of bringing it up but the night had been going perfectly he didn't want to risk offending her. She wouldn't be here with him if there really was something going on with her roommate, right? 

"Okay," Brian said with a small smirk "I was just wondering if I'd have to put up a fight for your heart" He teased and reached across the table to lace Erin's fingers with his own. Gentle pangs of electricity buzzed on the surface of her skin, it wasn't much compared to when Sammy touched her but still, it was something.

"I’m pretty sure you'd be the only one fighting for it" Erin giggled and trailed her thumb against his hand. Also, technically not a lie.

"Good."

The rest of the night went off without a hitch and soon Erin and Brian stood in front of Erin's apartment door while Erin fumbled around awkwardly to find her keys. "Thank you so much for walking me to the door, you really didn't have to." Erin said once her keys were finally in hand.

"I couldn't let you walk up those stairs alone this late at night," Brian answered and reached up to rub the back of his neck.

There was a moment of silence when their eyes connected and they both knew how they wanted to end the night but neither of them seemed to have the courage to make the first move. 

"I had a really nice time with you tonight, Erin" Brian was the first to speak and take a slight step forward.

Erin nodded and matched his step with one of her own "Really nice, you have to take me to that bar again sometime."

"Definitely," Brian whispered and kept moving forward until there was just a sliver of space between them. One of his hands reached up and delicately framed Erin's face, his eyes bore into her own and held her gaze until Erin silently gave him permission to proceed. He moved slowly at first, not wanting to giveaway just how much he had been wanting to kiss her. Once their lips touched, however, it only took seconds for his body to betray his mind. His lips were soft, just as soft as Erin had imagined they would be when she found caught herself staring at them earlier that night.

When their mouths connected Brian spared no time and gingerly teased her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. She felt herself smile against his lips as his palms smoothed down from her waist to grab her a handful of her ass. In one smooth movement, Brian pulled her body as close to his as possible and Erin gasped lightly, breaking their kiss momentarily. Every curve of her body was pressed against his like a puzzle piece and Erin could feel a reason for them to stop slowly beginning to brush against her.

“It's getting late” Erin murmured against his lips before pulling away.

"Yeah, it is" Brian returned as he let the grip he had on her body go lax, "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Erin nodded and waved at him slightly while he disappeared down the stairwell.

Her fingertips pressed to her lips and Erin beamed as she unlocked the front door and tiptoed into her apartment, not wanting to wake Sammy.

"How was your date?" She heard from the couch.

"Oh, you're awake, I thought you'd be asleep by now,"

"I couldn't sleep knowing you're out in the city with a strange man,"

Erin laughed and shook her head, walking toward the couch where Samuel was stretched out on the pull out mattress and sat down next to where he laid.

"Seriously, how was it?" He asked again.

"It was.." Erin looked down at Samuel's tired face, threading her fingertips through the front of his hair to push it away from his forehead then she moved her palm flat against his cheek and held it there for a few seconds. Samuel responded with a warm smile.

"It was good."

[wewillwriteyou]

could you do 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 from fluff for ben hardy please? like a short timeline of the relationship. sorry if it’s too much

Thank you anon for the request! 💕🥰 I’m extremely sorry it took me so many days to write this, but I wanted it to be good and special because the plot was so cute so I worked very hard on it! I really hope you’re going to enjoy it as much as I loved writing it! 🤸🏽‍♀️💋⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂

Plot’s request: Short timeline of Ben and Y/N’s relationship

Fluff [2], [3], [4], [5] & [6]: First date + First “I love you” + Moving in together + He/she proposes + Wedding day  

Warnings: fluff, a lot of FLUFF! This is written following the memories and the feelings of Y/N, so get ready ‘cause Joyce’s stream of consciousness got nothing on me (this basically means that “scenes” change fast, because they follow the trail of memories Y/N is thinking about, so don’t panic if you feel lost and confused at some point, in the end, it’ll all make sense I promise); maybe some language here and there, but this is pure asdfghjkl so safe territory, everybody  

Characters: Y/N (fem! reader) & Ben Hardy

Word count: 4.1K it’s long Iknow lmao

Written by: @sweetgcreature

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Your hands were shaking, as you were trying to adjust a rebellious strand of hair that was curling itself behind your ear. A few glitters glued themselves on your fingertips, falling down your perfectly styled head.

You sighed and decided it was a lost battle when you saw the curl flee again. A shaky little laugh trembled on your lips as you studied your reflection in the rounded mirror; your lips were beautifully glossed and you didn’t dare to touch the make-up on your eyes, being too afraid to ruin everything.

When you heard a few voices getting closer to your room, you closed your eyes and inhaled sharply.

The guests in the garden were vividly chatting together, waiting for your big entrance.

The scent of delicious food had never left your nostrils from the moment you had stepped into your parents’ house.

The footsteps on the stairs got noisier. But nothing could overpower the loud pumping of your heart.

You breathed in and out again, feeling yourself sliding into your own world, slowly into the past and getting lost into your memories …

… the door swung open, making you jump and causing your hand to draw a black line all over your right eyelid. You sighed and surrendered, sitting properly on your rug.

“Emma, I hope it’s very urgent. Like, tell me the world is ending right now. Otherwise, start running!” you announced, rotating your body to look at your roommate.

“I’m sorry, Y/N but – she stopped talking and looked behind her shoulders, before stepping inside the room and closing the door – he’s here” she whispered, walking closer to you.

“What?!” you exclaimed, immediately getting up. You rushed through the door and spied the little living room at the end of the hallway; you could see a tuft of blond hair popping up from the sofa. The second his head slightly moved to the side, you disappeared again inside your room.

“No. Don’t scream. Don’t panic - Emma shushed you, stretching her arms towards your body to calm you down – now breath with me. Inhale. And exhale” she was struggling not to burst into laughter and you could sense the hilarity in her voice.

But you followed her improvised yoga’s teacher skills and breathed heavily a couple times before massaging your temples. She then patiently guided you to the wardrobe and, with her help, you soon choose the outfit and adjusted your make-up.

“Now, you go out and get the boy, okay? He’s here for you. He likes you. And, remember – Emma got serious for a moment, pressing her hands on your shoulders – not too much tongue during the first kiss”

“Emma! You nasty!” you screamed and laughed at the same time. After a few more giggles, she hugged you tight and let you go to finally meet Ben.

Seeing him walk in your living room, as he smiley admired some photos, seemed so surreal. You gave your eyes the chance to look at him one minute more, before coughing a little to recall his attention.

“Oh, hi! – his smile could light up the entire room – you’re beautiful” he shyly admitted, getting closer and bending down to give a small kiss on your already blushing cheek.

“Thank you – you lowered your head a bit – should we go?” you proposed, stuttering a little bit.

“Sure – he agreed and immediately got closer to take your jacket inside his hands – here, let me help you with this” he caringly said, sliding the coat on your shoulders.

“Wow, what a gentleman” you joked, perching yourself on his arm as you walked towards the door.

“I want to impress you. That’s the only goal I’ve set for tonight” Ben admitted, as you stepped outside the apartment. You chuckled and laid your head on his shoulder while you started walking down the stairs.

“Then consider me impressed”

The cold winter’s wind hugged your two figures as you exited the building. Ben wrapped you in his arms, trying to protect you from the cutting breeze that was not-so-gently caressing your already red face. Luckily he had parked just a few steps down the street and soon you were warming yourself inside his red car.

As he started the engine, a familiar melody filled the air and you snapped your head in his direction noticing he was already smiling.

“You remembered!” you said with a childish tone. Ben smiled even wider and, keeping the eyes on the road, he replied:

“Sure! How could I forget? You’re always talking about Queen” his fingers reached for the radio to turn the volume up. You started to nod your head and, soon, you were already singing along to Somebody to Love, making Ben chuckle and hum the song in chorus with you.

The car-ride didn’t last long and in a little while you were able to spy the edifice where you knew the cinema was located. Your heart started to beat faster again and when Ben parked the car and the silence fell between you two for a second, you were ready to bet that he was able to hear your heartbeat as well.

You stared into each other’s eyes for what he seemed, both, an eternity and an instant, then Ben smiled one last time before stepping out and walking towards your car’s door to open it for you.

Needless to say, that he didn’t even let you start searching for your wallet inside your bag, as he had already extracted a few banknotes from the pocket of his trousers. And needless to say, that he didn’t give in to any of your attempts as you tried to persuade him and let you pay at least for the pop-corn.

“Just know that the feminist inside of me is pretty angry at the moment” you commented, with a small smirk on your face as Ben kept the door open for you to enter the theatre. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, but you could see his lips were already curving into a smile.

“Why?” he then asked, as you both sat down in the last row adjusting the pop-corn on your respective laps. You shrugged your shoulders and started to eat.

“Because I don’t need a man that pays everything for me. I can perfectly handle my expenses on my own” you were obviously exaggerating, adding a sassy tone to complete the whole discourse. But you were curious to see his reaction.  

“Good to know – Ben nonchalantly replied, throwing a bunch of pop-corns inside his mouth; he spied your surprised face with the corner of his eye, before turning his head to face you – this is just the confirmation I needed to hear”

“What confirmation?” you asked, mirroring the same smug expression that was painted all over his face.  

“Well, if you’re an independent woman that clearly doesn’t need a man to entertain herself, you accepted my invitation just because you like me. Or, to be extremely precise, you have an enormous crush on this incredibly attractive boy that is now talking to you” Ben was clearly flirting. He had crashed any kind of barrier you had built until that moment and inside your brain a thousand of alarms were ringing, causing you to short-circuit.

In easier words: you were speechless and blushing, as you couldn’t unglue your eyes from his.

The lights went off, partially hiding your embarrassed expression. A little laugh from Ben trembled in the dark, as you abandoned yourself against the back of your seat, hoping you could disappear then and there.

You were sure your feelings for Ben were obvious, but you didn’t know they were that obvious.

Suddenly, while you were sinking inside the spiral of your thoughts completely forgetting about the movie, you felt a gentle hand place itself on your leg. You snapped your head in Ben’s direction and, for a moment, you thought you had seen him flinch a little bit as if he was unsure of his movements.

You reached his knuckles with your trembling fingertips and laid your palm on the back of his hand. He didn’t hesitate and intertwined his fingers with yours.

A sigh of relief left both of your mouths as you settled into that new kind of grey area, where you weren’t black nor white, where you hadn’t decided yet what kind of relationship was yours. You were just two human beings enjoying the moment.

The movie was pretty boring and, in more than one scene, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Ben’s sarcastic jokes about the two protagonists.

“Oh c’mon, who speaks like that to his girlfriend!” Ben commented again, once you were stepping outside. Your hands still casually intertwined.

“I don’t know, maybe someone who is deeply in love?” you asked, batting your eyes to sound as cheesiest as possible. He giggled and pulled you closer to his side, putting his arm behind your shoulders.

Once you got in the car the electricity that had fallen between you two was more than obvious; and, as Ben drove through the night, you noticed how both of your faces were lightened up by a ridiculously gracious smile.

When you recognized your neighborhood you weren’t able to hold a disappointing puff. You weren’t ready to let him go; you would have loved to stay in his car forever. Or at least, all night.

Ben noticed your serious face but didn’t say anything. He simply parked the car near the sidewalk and turned the engine off, letting the silence wrap you two once again.

“Y/N?” he then said, making you turn around to look at him. You hummed in response, giving him all your attention.

“I know we met just a few weeks ago and I know that this is only our first date, but – and he stopped to look right back at you – but I like you. A lot”

You let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Ben, I like you too!” you said in a rush, feeling yourself freer by the minute. A big, warm smile appeared on his blushing face and you couldn’t help but giggle.Every trace of hilarity soon dissolved, when his thumb met your lips parting them.

Ben inched towards you and you did the same, giving him the chance to delicately caress your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked in a whisper as his fingers were drawing patterns on your face. You repeatedly nodded, not able to say a word in that precise moment. Ben smiled one last time, before closing his eyes and sweetly locking his lips with yours.

You both inhaled sharply and let your emotions run free, as you savored every inch of his mouth so perfectly pressed against your hungry lips …

… your fingers caressed the back of his head, causing him to lazy groan between the kisses. You proudly smiled and pushed him down on the mattress, straddling his lap. His hands fell on your booty, playfully squeezing it.

“So eager. And it’s only seven in the morning” you flirted, breaking the kiss and sitting on his lap. Ben laughed along and caressed your naked hips; you traced his abdomen with your fingertips, tickling him then and there.

“You leave me no choice. Look at you – he worshipped you, trying to sit properly on the bed to have his face on the same level as yours – we’ve been dating only for three months and I’m already crazy about you” he added, leaving a chaste kiss on your lips.

You blushed and cupped his face to gently transport him into another passionate kiss. Ben smiled and kissed you back, encircling your body with his arms to have you glued against his chest.

“Mmm … I love you” you accidentally mumbled against his mouth, but the realization of the words you had just pronounced struck both of you at the same time causing your kiss to suddenly end.

You instantly flushed until the tip of your ears, as Ben was staring at you with his lips agape. You had never dared to say those three words because you had grown up with the idea that having a crush and loving someone are two completely different things. And Ben knew this.

“What? – a smile had started to creep on his lips, as he reached your face to caress it – are you serious?” he asked, getting thoughtful for a moment.

“Yes – you immediately replied; there was no point in lying, the truth had been exposed – I love you Benjamin Jones” you chuckled, very aware of how much he hated his “real” name.

“God, I love you too Y/N Y/L/N! I fucking love you!” he didn’t hesitate and kissed you again. He soon made you roll on your back to tower your half-naked body with his, as the kiss got more passionate by the minute.

“I can’t believe you actually said it” Ben commented, starting to kiss your neck and causing you to moan softly. Your hands were caressing his muscled back, as you let him pleasantly torture you in your favourite way possible.

“Me neither” you giggled when his hair tickled your hip. Ben smiled and kissed the inside of your thigh, hungrily looking up at you.

“I love you” he then whispered, positioning a chaste kiss on your lower belly. You warmly smiled down at him, letting his face rest on your right palm. But, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, the phone started ringing in the living room.

Ben rolled his eyes and groaned, hiding his face on your stomach. You burst out laughing and tugged at his messy hair.

“C’mon, be a good landlord and go answer the call” you said between the giggles, obliging him to get up. He looked like an annoyed child and, once he was standing near the bed, you smirked and mischievously laid down on the mattress again.

“I’ll be here, waiting for you to come back” you flirted, patting the empty side next to you. Ben swallowed and rushed towards you, to bend down and leave a fleeting kiss on your lips.

“Damn you” he commented, running outside the bedroom. You chuckled, scrolling your head, before abandoning yourself on the bed staring at the ceiling … 

… rapid steps reached the ringing phone and a quick hand grabbed it before it was too late.

“Hello? … yes, it’s me … yes! Finally, I’d add – you chuckle, resting your shoulder against the wall and taking away a couple of beads of sweet that were slipping down your forehead – there’s still a lot of work to do. Like, in every corner there is at least one box full of stuff that needs to be reordered and we’ … what? Tonight? I don’t know Emma – you said, extending your neck to spy your boyfriend who was struggling with the paint roller – the house is a literal disaster! Maybe tomorrow? … okay, perfect. Now I have to go or Ben will end up covered in blue paint very soon”

After the usual salutations, you ended the call and ran down the hallway just in time to save the paint’s container that was about to fall on the ground.

“Thank you! – Ben sighed relieved and puckered his lips, waiting for a kiss that did not hesitate to come – who was at the phone?” he then asked, taking the big brush in his hands again and adjusting the stairs near the wall to paint the uppercorner.

“Emma. She wanted to come and visit us tonight – he snapped immediately his head in your direction, making you giggle – I obviously said no, don’t worry” you added, taking a brush as well to retouch some parts then and there.

You worked non-stop for other two hours, but the proudness to see the perfect result you obtained with the freshly painted room had no price. You both stood side by side, with your arms crossed on your chests, admiring the perfectly renewed wall in front of you.

Ben rotated his head to look at you and you noticed, so you turned around to meet his gaze. He wrinkled his nose and you raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“You have something on your face” he inclined his neck, squinting his eyes to study your features.

“Where?” you asked, starting to palpate every inch of your cheeks searching for a trace of paint somewhere under your eyes and near your nose. It was at that moment that you saw his smirk and, before you could stop him, he had placed his dirty palms on both sides of your face.

“Here” he laughed looking at your furrowed expression covered in blue and white. As he was almost rolling on the floor you noticed an abandoned brush in the corner. You quickly caught it and drew a perfect blue line in the middle of Ben’s face.

His mouth opened in disbelief, while it was finally your turn to burst into sonorous laughter. Soon Ben’s hands wrapped your waist and you found yourself screaming in amusement, as he carried you on his shoulder until he reached the living room (the only furnished room of the house) where he let you fall on the sofa hovering you.

“You little minx” he laughed, kissing you. You giggled, putting two of your fingers inside the collar of his t-shirt to pull him closer. After a few kisses and chuckles, Ben rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

You breathed heavily, caressing his face.

“We did it” he said in a whisper, touching your nose with his. You could feel tears of joy pinching your eyes. You kissed him again, this time slower to savor every second of that perfect moment.

“Yes. It’s impossible for you to get rid of me now that we live together” you joked, as you both found yourselves crying and laughing simultaneously.

“Poor me” Ben commented, before starting to pepper all your face with sloppy kisses. You started giggling again, hugging his shoulders to have him as close as possible.

He kept tickling every inch of your cheeks with his parted lips, slowly moving on your neck, then your shoulder, down your arm …

… he kissed the back of your hand again, for the hundredth time that night.

“Ben. We’re in public” you protested between the chuckles, adjusting his bowtie. Again.

Ben rolled his eyes and intertwined his fingers with yours, as you were both stuck in what seemed an endless queue to reach the elevator. Millions of little lights were shining above your head and you still couldn’t believe you weren’tactually daydreaming.

Visiting Paris had always been one of your burning desires. And being there with Ben, hand in hand waiting to go on the top of the Eiffel Tower to eat in one of the fanciest places on earth was even better than what you had always hoped for.

Eventually, your turn came and as soon as you reached the top you literally felt your breath stop in your throat. It was the most beautiful view you had ever seen in your entire life. You completely ignored the waiter that wanted to show youyour way to your reserved table, and almost floated to the nearest balcony.

As you stepped outside, a gentle breeze passed through your hair and your eyes got lost in the city’s skyline. Ben walked closer to you and, once he was exactly behind your back, he laid his chin in the crook of your neck encircling your waist with his arms.

“So? What do you think?” he asked, grazing his lips close to your ear. You scrolled your head, still overwhelmed by the beauty of Paris.

“This is … this is insane – you commented, wiping away a couple of tears that were starting to fog your sight; you heard Ben giggle and after he had kissed your cheek, he distanced himself as you found yourself randomly rumble andinvoluntary express your thoughts – you know, a part of me was sure you wouldhave proposed or something here in Paris, as it happens in thousands ofrom-coms. But then I thought it was too cheesy, even for someone like … you” that last word dying on your lips, as you turned around and saw Ben kneeled down in front of you.

A big, shy smile had appeared on his face, while the chatting from inside the restaurant got quieter. Everything got blurred, the time froze in the moment your eyes met his.

“Maybe it’s cheesy. And it’s also very predictable, I’m aware of that. But you know, I thought that, since everything started at the cinema, while we were watching a terrible romantic movie, it would have been funny ending up in the same exact situation” a nervous laugh escaped both your mouths, as you were quick to dry your crying eyes.

“So, here I am. Behaving as the protagonist of the cheapest film ever just to ask you if you, Y/N Y/L/N, would like to marry me?” Ben said, extracting a little velvet box from his trousers and opening it to reveal a shining ring. You covered your mouth in disbelief, nodding imperceptibly.

“Yes, Ben! Yes!” you finally replied, when you saw even the slightest shadow of preoccupation trespass his face. In a moment you were in his arms, while everyone around you was clapping and cheering you two.

The confused claps got heavier and heavier …

… they transformed themselves into knocks. The door creaked and you came back to reality.

Your mom made her entrance into the room, positioning herself behind you and looking at your reflection. She tried adjusting the curl inside your styled hair, as you had done previously, but without success. You both started to laugh, as she pressed her hands on your shoulders.  

“Are you ready?” she rhetorically asked. You looked at her in the eyes using the mirror as a shield to hide all your mixed emotions. You didn’t answer and got up instead, walking towards the window.

You moved the curtains and saw all the people gathered in the garden waiting just for you. Ben was already there, trembling as a leaf and nervous as he had ever been in all his life.

“Sure” you whispered, with your heart full of love. Your mom was visibly moved as she accompanied you down the stairs and near the big, doubled-glassed window that led into the garden. Your father was already waiting for you with tears in his eyes. You kissed both of them and waited for your mother to get to her seat and for the wedding march to start playing.

When the first note trembled in the air, you squeezed your father’s arm, who held you back as you both stepped outside. Everyone got up, looking at you. You could recognize a few faces: your mom, some of your relatives and friends, Emma and her boyfriend.

But you had eyes only for Ben, who was trying so hard not to start crying at the sight of you all dressed and emotional while you were walking to reach him.

Every trace of fear had disappeared the moment you recognized in Ben’s eyes the same young boy that was absentmindedly watching your photos, wandering in the living room of your old flat.

The same boy that had kissed you in the car after your first date.

The same boy that had remained speechless hearing you admitting your love to him, a random Sunday morning as you were both lazily kissing in his bed.

The same man that had painted with you the wall of your first house.

The same man that had flown you to Paris just to propose to you.

That same man you had loved for so many years.

He was there. Wiping away a few tears after he had removed the wedding veil from your face.

He was the one. And in that precise moment, as you were staring eyes in eyes holding your hands, everything seemed perfectly right. Everything seemed simply perfect.

Ben got closer and kissed your cheek before you both diverted your attention to the priest. He leaned down again to whisper in your ear:

“You’re gorgeous”

You blushed as if it was the very first time.

“What a gentleman” you commented under your voice, looking up at him with just the corner of your eye.

“You know; I want to impress you. That’s the only goal I’ve set for the rest of my life” he responded.

You shared a knowing gaze. Nobody could hear you, but it didn’t matter because nobody would have understood that exchange of words. You smiled, as tears reached your eyes, and answered:

“Then consider me impressed”

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